


No More Lonely Nights

by MaccaGirl90 (MaccaGirl590)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:13:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaccaGirl590/pseuds/MaccaGirl90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1962. Liverpool, England, is slowly being awakened by a musical sensation known as the Beatles, playing to screaming female fans almost nightly at a crowded venue known as the Cavern Club. The four band members- Paul McCartney, John Lennon, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr- are slowly finding themselves on the road to superstardom and at the head of a craze like no other.</p>
<p>Sixteen-year-old American Alexandra "Allie" Morgan lives with her military father and high-strung mother in Liverpool, where, on the night of her 16th birthday, three school friends take her to see the Beatles perform at the Cavern Club. By a stroke of chance, Allie meets Paul McCartney, the one boy all the girls are swooning over, and she and Paul find themselves falling rapidly in love with each other. But a sensation like no other is about to rock the world just as their relationship takes off- Beatlemania.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

28 February 1962.

Liverpool, England.

**ALLIE:** I turned sixteen today. Sixteen. I can hardly believe that I have finally reached that golden age that all girls dream about, the big 1-6. It honestly feels no different than 15 to me, but maybe the importance of this age will show itself after some time.

Today wasn’t a big deal though, really. I didn’t want my parents to make a fuss over me being sixteen, especially since my mother is so caught up in the details of my sister’s upcoming wedding. My father stays far too busy at RAF Alconbury over in Cambridgeshire to really care, so I tend to get overlooked on such occasions.

It’s only fair to start this story by telling you exactly who I am and where I came from, I suppose, so here you are. My name is Alexandra Elizabeth Morgan, but I prefer to be called Allie, please. I’m American (born in Florida) but my father has been stationed in the UK for two years now, at RAF Alconbury, as mentioned above. However, we live in Liverpool, a good one and a half hours away from his base. My mother insisted on living here, as she said she was tired of living on Air Force bases and being isolated from society. My father comes home on the weekends, but otherwise, it is rare I see him (he did come home tonight for my birthday even though it’s a Wednesday). I have an older sister, Marion, who is back in America at the University of New York studying education. She’s the one getting married, and I think my mother is relieved Marion got away from England and found a husband from the good old U S of A (Andy Johnson- all-American boy from Illinois studying law. My parents are thrilled, I’ll tell you). We’ve lived all over the US and the world- Florida, Germany, Mississippi, Japan, Spain, Texas, Utah, Guam, and Alaska- prior to living here. We’ve been in the UK the longest, mainly because my father likes the base (he’s a General of the Air Force now). My mother wants to leave or send me away to avoid me getting too tangled up with the British males here in Liverpool, but my father won’t let her do as much. I for one am in no hurry to return to the States. I’ve fallen in love with England. It’s an amazing country filled with amazing people. Or perhaps that is simply my hopeless romantic side kicking in. Who can say.

I think you’ll be able to gain a good understanding of my parents from reading the above, but in case not, let me spell it out a little clearer for you. My father is Anthony Morgan, General of the Air Force; my mother is Elizabeth Morgan (nee Schneider), homemaker. It’s always seemed to me that my parents were a highly unlikely match- my father is outgoing and friendly, though absorbed in his job, while my mother is high-strung and pushy and at times utterly provoking. They’ve been married for twenty-three years in March, though, so I guess they’re not so different after all. Marion, my sister, is twenty-one and a thorn in my side, let me tell you. She is the most self-absorbed, egotistical, vain creature ever placed on planet Earth. I honestly don’t see how that poor boy she has roped into marrying her will survive (I met Andy last summer when he came over to Liverpool- he was very nice, quiet, and reserved, unlike Queen Loudmouth). But if he was dumb enough to ask her, I take it there is chemistry between them. I just hope it lasts.

Tonight should be amazing, as I’m going to this joint in town called the Cavern Club with three schoolmates- Mary, Eloise, and Lucy. There’s a band that plays there that Lucy insists I must see in honor of my sixteenth birthday, so I agreed to go with them and see for myself how great this band is. Lucy said they’re called the Beatles- as it BEAT, not like the bugs- and they’re four lads from here in Liverpool who’ve apparently known each other a bit from school and got together in the late 1950s to form a skiffle band. Or at least, two of them knew each other from school. I can’t keep details straight. The girls say they are the hot ticket in the local music scene now and my curiosity has been raised. Mother threw a fit when I asked to go but Father intervened and said yes, so it’s off to find out in about two hours. Lucy kept raving about one of the boys in particular and how dreamy he is- I think she said his name was Paul, but I’m not sure. Lucy can sometimes have decent taste in  
the male sex but sometimes not so I’ll make up my mind once I see all four of them in person tonight

*

8:oopm

The Cavern Club, Liverpool

**ALLIE:** I’m sitting here in the Cavern Club now with the girls waiting for the bands to play. I can see now why they call this place the “Cavern Club.” It’s dark and cramped and crowded like a cave. It’s also smoky too. Mary has lit one cigarette off another since we walked in the door, and the smell is making my head throb. We have a small table right by the stage, apparently routine for the flocks of girls who swarm the club trying to be noticed by this Beatles band. The boys must all be gorgeous for the females to do something like that. 

“Allie, what do you think of the club?” Lucy asked me, reaching for one of Mary’s cigarettes. She lit it and tapped the crumbling ash in the ashtray in the middle of the table. “It’s not as crowded tonight since it’s mid-week. On Fridays and Saturdays though- dear me! You can’t even move in here.” She took a long drag on the cigarette and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling.

“It’s definitely small,” I replied. I shifted in my seat and turned to get out of the way of the cigarette smoke wafting from Lucy’s direction. I decided I had to be the only sixteen-year-old girl who didn’t smoke, as all the others at my school did. I thought the habit was nasty for a girl, but maybe it truly was the cool thing. Like I could tell.

“The band should be out in about ten minutes,” Eloise said, tapping her own cigarette out in the ashtray. “Ever since they got that new manager, the Epstein fellow, they’re really prompt. Really snappy dressers, too. I hear this Epstein makes them wear suits and all that. I haven’t been here since before they went to Hamburg last year.”

“So they’re the Beatles? B-e-a-t-l-e-s? Like a beat?” I asked. “Not the bug?”

“You got it,” Lucy replied. She brushed some stray ash off the table and onto the floor. “Hottest thing to ever hit Liverpool- literally. All four of them are pretty cute. Especially the left-handed bass player. Paul McCartney. Oh my God, wait till you see him, Allie! You’ll understand why girls pack this place out.” She smiled and pulled another cigarette from the pack. “He’s the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever seen!”

“I think that lead guitarist is pretty fine too,” Mary replied. “George Harrison. He’s quite young too, not but a couple years older than all of us. I think he’s the one who got deported from Germany when they were there.”

“He was,” Eloise said. “I’m partial to John Lennon myself, but I swear, he has that tarty little girlfriend so I suppose none of us have a chance with him. That leaves the poor drummer with the large nose- Richard Starkey, but no one calls him that, he’s Ringo Starr to us. He’s cute in a way but not overwhelmingly so.”

I nodded. I really could only stand Lucy out of the three of them, and her I could take in small doses. They all smoked, they all flirted and chased boys… I did none of those things so I felt rather left out at school most of the time. Lucy had been kind to me but she was over-the-top around Mary and Eloise. It didn’t worry me, though. Even three annoying companions were better than none at all in my eyes.

Mary and Eloise disappeared to use the ladies room a moment later. “After they get back, we’ll go,” Lucy said, grinding her cigarette down in the ashtray. “See, we have to fix up and look our best for the band. Who knows, they might end up wanting one of us. It’s very important to look as gorgeous as we can.” I felt her eyes travel up and down my form, from my long blonde hair hanging down my back, to my face with minimal cosmetics applied, to my black dress and black pumps, a string of pearls around my neck. My dress wasn’t skintight nor was cut in the short, mini style. The shoes didn’t have very high heels and were slightly scuffed at the toes, and my face was pale and lacking in blush or lipstick. I had swiped a bit of my mother’s eyeshadow and mascara but couldn’t find the brush to apply the blush. I thought I looked fine, but apparently I didn’t in the eyes of Lucy.

I opened my mouth to ask if she had brought extra cosmetics I could borrow but I quickly shut it again. No. I wouldn’t succumb to the ideals of these girls. “If you ask me, if these four boys are the types who are going to take one look at ordinary me and turn up their noses, then they aren’t worth fooling with. They can have their painted-face ladies in call women clothing for all I care, Lucy, that’s just how I feel.”

Lucy stared at me for a long moment, her jaw hanging slack. I sat up a bit straighter in my chair and stiffened my spine, preparing for her to either slap or scream at me. I wouldn’t care which one she did. I knew what I felt was right, whether she thought so or not.

“Allie,” she finally spoke, and her voice was low yet steady. “If that is the way you feel, fine. But it’s not the way I feel. I’ll do whatever it takes to get noticed. If you want to sit on the sidelines and end up ignored, go for it.”

I felt blood rush to my cheeks and my face grow hot, almost as though she had slapped me. So much for expressing my personal convictions. Lucy wasn’t going to listen no matter what.

Mary and Eloise reappeared at that moment and Lucy slipped off to the restroom with her purse tucked under her arm. I saw that the other two girls had dramatically enhanced their makeup and their bustlines had magically grown (tissues, I was certain- would that trick ever go out of style) in tight tops they had not been wearing ten minutes ago. 

I sighed. It was going to be a long night.

 

**PAUL:** Ever since Brian Epstein decided to be our manager, things have taken a complete one-hundred eighty degree turnabout from how they were this time last year when we were bouncing from club to club here in the UK as well as over in Hamburg. Me, I have no issues with the well-groomed hairstyle, the neatly pressed white shirts with crisp cuffs and collars, dry-cleaned suits and spit-shined shoes. I don’t mind looking my best in front of the crowds when we play. Seems I’m the only one who doesn’t mind, though. No wonder the outside world thinks I’m so perfect and adorable.

“I just still hate having to get all dressed up like I’m going somewhere important,” I heard John mutter from the chair in the corner. He was fiddling with his tie, that classic I’m-getting-annoyed look stamped across his face. “It’s a gig at some hole-in-the-wall Liverpool club, not like we’re on television or anything.”

“Ehh, John, just get used to it,” George replied. He was combing out his hair with one hand and straightening his jacket with the other. “Seems Epstein wants us to go places with our career. You don’t want to still be playing to all the Germans, now do you?”

“Well, no, of course not, but I see no issue with how we used to play. I miss my normal clothing.” John walked up behind George and tousled his neatly combed hair. “What’s wrong with that look, eh, George?” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Don’t even come near me, John!” Ringo called from across the room. “I finally got mine to look good for once, I don’t fancy recombing it ten minutes before we gotta drag ourselves out there.”

I picked up my bass and turned away from them, trying to concentrate on my music instead. I want it all to be perfect, of course. I stop at nothing but perfection and beyond, and the other three in the band know it, too. Ringo’s only been with us a few weeks but even he has already picked up on my perfectionism and desire to produce a quality sound. I think I’m so desperate for us, the Beatles, to go somewhere, do something other than play to screaming Liverpudlian lasses every night of the week that I’ll do anything to get us there. And John calls this his band…

I heard a knock at our dressing room door and turned the knob. Brian was standing outside, looking both excited and nervous. “Five minutes, boys!” he exclaimed. “Best get your instruments together and come this way.”

I saw John roll his eyes as he picked up his guitar. He doesn’t like Brian, I realize that. But no need to make it apparent. George fetched his own guitar from a nearby chair and Ringo pocketed his drumsticks. “We’re coming, Brian,” I replied. 

“Why are you so nice to him?” John asked me as we made our way down the hall to the entrance to the stage area. “He’s a queer and you know it. Also seems to be robbing us blind with this contract. Better manager could’ve been found, but George and Pete Best roped me into it. And then Pete gets the boot and in comes Ringo. You conveniently had no say in any of it.”

“I don’t care, John, really,” I said. “So long as someone is managing us and taking care of our business affairs, I’m happy.”

I peered out one of the side entrances that led into the main club area, where the tables were set up near the stage. A flock of over-dressed, over-painted girls had already assembled at the end of the stage, I saw. I sighed to myself. Really, we were playing to this? Wasn’t there something better?

I heard a voice in the crowd of giggling females that made my ears perk up and listen. I stopped walking and strained to hear the words spoken by this voice over the others. An American voice, not Liverpudlian. “If you ask me, if these four boys are the types who are going to take one look at ordinary me and turn up their noses, then they aren’t worth fooling with. They can have their painted-face ladies in call women clothing for all I care, Lucy, that’s just how I feel.” I felt a jolt of surprise in my chest. There actually was a girl in this world who thought so about us? I was pleased to know such a notion could indeed be found inside the head of a female in this building. I wanted to look closer into the crowd to see if I could put a face with that voice (and a lovely voice is was, for an American. And people here claim Americans have terrible accents…), but in doing so, I risked being noticed by the mob a mere ten feet away. I sighed and continued down the hall to the side entrance to the stage.

If I only knew who that voice that spoke such powerful words belonged to….

 

**ALLIE:** The Beatles are the next band to play, apparently, after this set is finished. Don’t ask me to tell you the name of the group playing now, some blues-ish number, sounds like. Lucy returned from the restroom looking as painted and puffed-up as every other girl but me, and I felt a strange mix of both disgust and sympathy rise up in my throat. Seeing her looking like a china doll when I honestly know she’s quite plain makes me feel sorry for her. She’s lying to herself by trying to alter her appearance to give her otherwise common face some sort of beauty, but she’s also lying to these four lads about to set foot on stage. If any of the four of them have a conscience and a decent bone somewhere on their person, they will overlook the try-hards and find someone more… well, someone more real, I guess is what I’m trying to say. I know that would be my mindset if I was a guy.

Suddenly the air came to life with the sounds of screams, cries, and shrieks, so much so that I could barely hear the voice announcing the next act over the noise. “AND NOW, PLEASE WELCOME TO THE CAVERN CLUB STAGES, THOSE FOUR LADS FROM RIGHT HERE IN LIVERPOOL, THE BEATLES!” The moment the words “the Beatles” escaped into the air, mass vocal chaos seemed to break out. Girls all around me, Mary and Eloise and Lucy included, were screaming bloody murder at the tops of their lungs. Some were even sobbing, and I saw an unlucky young lady pass out on the floor. I seemed to be the only one remaining calm and silent, not collapsing from sheer hysteria or hollering as loud as my vocal cords would allow.

I stood up and peered around Lucy’s shoulder, my eyes desperate to know exactly what the fuss was all about. I saw the four lads on stage, drummer in the back, bass player and two guitarists in the front standing in a neat line. My eyes traveled first to the drummer, since Mary had said he was not as cute as the other three. Ringo Starr wasn’t bad-looking in the least, I thought to myself. He did have a bit of a nose on him, but somehow, that feature seemed to add character and yes, cuteness to his face. 

The two guitarists were fairly attractive as well. Lucy had told me earlier that John Lennon was the one who played rhythm guitar and that he usually stood alone at one microphone. George Harrison was on lead guitar and shared the microphone with the bass player. 

I shifted my gaze slightly to the left, and suddenly, I felt a strange soaring-like sensation expand inside my chest. My breath caught in my throat, and I could have sworn my heart stopped for at least ten seconds. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move… all I could do was stare at the sight before me. The bass player, Paul McCartney. He had the most perfect face I had ever seen before- large, gorgeous bright eyes, a beautiful smile… and when he opened his mouth and began to sing along with John and George, I fell completely in love.

 

**PAUL:** And, of course, here we go again. Another night, another show, another bunch of girls freaking out over us. This routine is getting rather old, to me, that is. I’m not sure what the others think of it. Knowing Ringo, he’s rather apathetic about the whole thing, George probably could care less, while John likely is basking in the attention (and he’s the only one of us with a steady girlfriend, his friend Cynthia Powell from school- oh, the irony…). 

I can’t quite get the words of that one girl out of my mind, hard as I keep trying. What she said struck me deeply and has me thinking about exactly where we as a band are headed with our careers. Nowhere, to me. I feel like we’re stuck in a rut and not moving an inch, and I don’t like it one bit. I am weary of playing packed shows at tiny clubs to nothing but hysterical girls. I want to go somewhere, see the world, make a name for ourselves. Make a name for the Beatles outside of Liverpool. 

“Paul, come on!” John called. “We have to go out there now! Snap out of your little daydream and move it!” 

I sighed and picked my bass up from the floor. Here we go. Let the chaos begin. I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the stage, positioning myself behind the right microphone by George, with John on the left microphone and Ringo slightly behind us at his drum kit. The screams and cries of the girls pulsated through my brain and almost made me dizzy. George cast a curious glance at me, but I shook my head and mouthed “Don’t ask” to him. He shrugged and nodded and turned his concentration to playing his chords, leaving me to join in with my bass line accompaniment and continue trying to shake the haze from my mind. I forced myself to put on my stage face- the smile, the bright and happy disposition- and perform our set. Thirty minutes and we’d be done for the night. It would pass quickly, I knew it. 

I scanned the crowd as we played, trying to see if I could find a face that could possibly match the voice I had heard as I was coming to the stage. Nearly every girl in the club wore a look of sheer euphoric hysteria on her face and almost that same number of them were crying. What our appeal was to them I had yet to understand.  
Only one girl I spotted in the crowd seemed to be composed and calm and not breaking down in our presence. She was standing with three other girls who were all having meltdowns, a look of apathy and slight annoyance on her face as she watched the other females around her swoon. She had long blonde hair pulled back loosely from her face and was wearing a plain black dress with a string of pearls resting against her collarbones. Her face was not caked with cosmetics, and even from my view on the stage, she did not seem to have modified her bust line like the others clearly had done (tissues- will that trick ever go out of style?). I could not tear my eyes from her as we played through our first two songs, though I still managed to stay focused enough to perform and not completely mess up my side of things. 

Somehow, I knew in my heart that the voice I’d heard belonged to that perfect face. 

**ALLIE:** Paul McCartney has me totally transfixed. It’s as if I’ve turned into a statue where I am standing. I keep having to remind myself even to breathe. I cannot move a muscle nor can I tear my eyes from his face. It’s like I’m under some sort of spell.

The screams, the cries, the mass chaos that is ensuing around me seems to have faded to a dull rumble in the background. All I hear is the music the Beatles are playing, the pounding rhythm of Ringo’s drums, John and George’s guitars, and of course Paul’s bass. 

All I can see is Paul McCartney. 

I continued to keep my eyes on him, watching his hands move over the bass, the way he tossed his head slightly as he sang, and at one point, the wink he gave the already hyperventilating crowd. I felt my own body growing weak the longer I watched him, understanding why this place was so crowded when the Beatles were on stage- and I doubted it had as much to do with the other three boys, either. 

After they finished their second song, I saw Paul glance out across the crowd, scanning the girls as though he was looking for someone in particular before his eyes settled on… me? Was he looking at me? I averted my eyes from him but quickly looked back. He was indeed watching me, a look of satisfaction and contemplation on his face. He smiled and winked at me, and I fought hard to keep from sinking back down in my chair. He’d noticed me. 


	2. Chapter Two

**PAUL:** The show is about to end and I have yet to turn my gaze anywhere in the audience but towards that girl in front of the stage. I think she has noticed me, and I winked at her in an attempt to confirm where or not she had. Her face turned bright pink and she put her hand to her mouth. Yes, she quite obviously saw that little maneuver. I don’t why, but for some reason, when I wink, the ladies just melt. Must be a female reaction to their attraction to the opposite sex. Who can say.

I want to meet her. I do. I haven’t been all that interested in interacting with the fans that storm the club to see us perform, but my interest has now been peaked. She might not even be the one who was talking a bit of sense prior to the show, but something tells me she was. I have a rather strong intuition regarding things like that, not to be bragging or anything.

 

**ALLIE:** The show’s almost over, but I don’t want to move from this spot. Paul has been watching me throughout the Beatles’ whole set, and I sense that he might come speak with me if I stay here long enough. He has had a look on his face like he does want to come say something to me, so I don’t think I’ll go anywhere once the band finishes playing. 

The final song ended and the crowd of course went wild. The girls began gathering their belongings once they had recovered from the sheer hysteria trip they had been on for the past forty-five minutes. Mary and Eloise left first, running out the door with a horde of others in an attempt to see if the band would be leaving via the front of the club. Lucy lingered a few minutes, a sour expression on her face. I sensed trouble brewing in the air, and sure enough, the words that spilled from her mouth a moment later weren’t exactly friendly conversation. “He was watching you the whole time,” she hissed, snatching her purse up from the table. “Don’t you get this? I brought you here to see the band, and now I regret it. You’re an American, Allie. A foreigner on our soil. We British girls cannot have someone from an entirely different country swaying our four most eligible bachelors. Well, I guess that would be three since John and Cynthia are together, but still, I think you get what I’m saying.”

“I get exactly what you’re saying,” I replied coolly, retrieving my own handbag from the tabletop. “You’re jealous. That’s all it boils down to. So what if he was looking at me? I won’t come again, you don’t have to worry. Then you can have the entire band to yourself.” I turned quickly and stalked away from the table, leaving behind an agape-mouthed Lucy. I felt liberated after speaking those words to her.

I felt a hand clasp my shoulder, and I whirled around, expecting to see Lucy coming to either apologize or fight some more. The person with the grip on my shoulder was certainly not Lucy, nor any of the other girls remaining in the club. I let out a gasp and dropped my purse. 

It was none other than Paul McCartney standing next to me, his hand cupped against my left shoulder. He knelt down and picked up my handbag and handed it to me wordlessly, a smile playing on his lips. “You seem a bit flustered, love,” he said, and the sound of his voice sent a new wave of euphoria through my chest. “Do you mind if I talk to you for a bit? In the back, that is, in our dressing room.”

I found my voice after at least twenty seconds of standing shocked before him. “Me? You want to talk to me?”

“Of course. I’m certain you noticed that I was watching you throughout the set. You had to have, I saw the look on your face when I winked at you.” He smiled gently and placed his free hand on my right shoulder. “Please?”

I could hardly believe this was actually happening to me. Paul wanted me to come backstage with him so he could talk to me? Either he was attracted to me in some way or… well, I wasn’t sure what other reason he could have. “Sure, why not?” I replied. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” he said. “I’m sure you already know my name, but I can’t stand the thought of not properly introducing myself to you. Paul McCartney.”

“I’m Allie Morgan,” I answered. He held out his hand and I shook it, feeling a spark as his fingers closed in around mine. “As you can likely tell, I am very much American and very not-British. I’m the daughter of a military man.”

“Doesn’t matter to me what nationality you are,” Paul said. “I overlook all things like that.” He led me out one of the side doors, which opened up into a corridor lined with other doors. He opened one and stepped inside, me close behind. “This is our dressing room,” he told me, closing the door gently behind him. “The others will probably come around soon, but I’ll make them leave.”

I settled on the edge of the sofa parked against the wall and set my handbag on the carpet. “Paul, I’m really flattered that you want to talk to me, but… why me? Like I said, I’m not from your country. I hadn’t even heard of you or the Beatles until I was brought here tonight by some likely now ex-friends from school. I’m nothing special.”

Paul knelt on the floor next to the couch and placed a hand on my knee. “Allie, like I said, the nationality you are doesn’t matter to me. I don’t care that you had no idea who I was until an hour ago. I actually wanted to ask you about something I heard someone say before the show started. I was wondering if it was you who said something about not caring what you looked like in our presence, since if we were decent lads, we wouldn’t be worrying about the outward appearance.”

I gasped, and my hand involuntarily flew to my mouth. “Paul, how in the world did you-“

“I was walking past to the stage and one of the side doors had been left open. I took a peek into the club to see what sort of crowd awaited us and I heard you talking to someone named Lucy. It really struck a chord in me, Allie, I’m serious.” He looked at me and sighed. “I’ve never heard a girl say anything like that about me before, or about John or George or Ringo. They all seem obsessed with trying to make themselves physically attractive to all of us. I’m not worried so much about physical attraction as I am the character of the person, what is inside their heart and soul.”

I sighed and looked at him. The look he had on his face was one that made my heart melt, one of adoration and admiration and yes, attraction. I was picking up on a very strong vibe from him- Paul McCartney was quite obviously attracted to me.

 

**PAUL:** I am smitten with this girl and I have only known her ten minutes. Don’t even try to tell me I’m nuts, either, I won’t listen. I never gave much thought to the phrase “Love at first sight” until now, because that’s exactly how I’m feeling. Crazy, I know, but true.

The way she says my name makes my heart skip at least fifty beats, and she’s said it already several times since I was able to locate her and introduce myself. She’s got the most gorgeous eyes I have ever seen, too- a bright, clear sky blue, like the daytime heavens appear on those perfect autumn days here in Liverpool. I’m not shallow but I am male, so I naturally notice attractive features on females. She’s definitely got numerous attractive features.

The door to the dressing room swung open and I heard John’s voice behind. “Well, well, well, what have we here? Paul, you have a girl with you?”

I turned and faced him. “John, this is Allie Morgan. Allie, John Lennon.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Allie said, and John grasped her hand. “Likewise, Miss Allie,” he replied. “Paul hasn’t mentioned you, and he tells us everything.”

“We just met, actually,” I interjected. “About ten minutes ago.”

John raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. “Ummm… how? I know you didn’t go out in that mob of crazy women.”

“Long story, John, I’ll explain later. Where’re Ringo and George?”

“With Epstein. I had to get away, that man drives me nuts.”

I rolled my eyes. Disrespect towards our manager was really going to get us places. “Does he need to see me?”

“Doubt it,” John replied. “He was just reminding them that we don’t play Friday. You know George tends to forget details like that.”

What a relief. I got a two-day break until Saturday instead of the usual one. Saturday nights were not as bad as Fridays, if you can believe it. Odd but true.

“Well, I’m heading out for the night since we are no longer needed,” John continued. “It was nice to meet you, Allie. Paul, see you later and stay out of trouble.” He winked and walked out the door, shutting it gently behind him.

“Seems like a nice guy,” Allie mused after John had left. “A bit mischievous, I also read.”

I laughed. “That would be the perfect way to describe John. He’s a jokester, that lad is. But he’s my best mate, so what can I say? All three of them are like brothers to me, and I’ve barely known Ringo any time at all!”

Allie smiled. “Do you have siblings?”

“One brother. He’s two years younger than me. What about you?”

“An annoying and egotistical older sister,” she replied. “She’s engaged, thank goodness. She’s five years older than me. In fact, today is my sixteenth birthday. That’s why I came.”

“Well happy birthday, then,” I said, smiling. “Sixteen, eh? I’m nineteen, in case you were wondering. Twenty in June.” I watched her face to see if she reacted at all to the nearly four years difference in our ages, but she didn’t appear to.

“I was wondering, but I wasn’t about to ask unless you were willing to volunteer that information,” Allie said. She glanced at her wristwatch and then spoke again. “Goodness, look at the time! I’m supposed to be home by eleven and it’s already a quarter past ten.”

I hesitated. Did I dare ask what was on my mind? I decided to anyway. “Do you need a ride home? I take it you came with some people who abandoned you after the show, since you were alone.”

“Yes, they all had a jealous fit and dumped me. I guess how I make it home did not matter to them. I’d love a ride, Paul, how kind of you. I’d walk but-“

“No buts, I don’t want you walking alone out here at night! Who knows what would happen.”

She smiled at me, and I felt a strange soaring sensation fill my chest and expand inside my heart. Amazing how easy it was to fall for someone in a short span of time. “That settles it, then,” she said, rising from the couch and collecting her handbag. “I’m not too far from here, a few miles, I’d say. Easy to find.”

I opened the door to the dressing room and she stepped out into the now silent hallway. It was all I could do to keep from placing my hand on the small of her back as we walked, but I decided to save being so forward till later on, if there was a later on. Somehow, I knew there would be.

 

**ALLIE:** I am so thankful Paul offered to take me home. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to having to find transportation to the house without resorting to ringing my father to come get me. Leave it to those three to leave me. I bet Lucy saw me with Paul and ran to tattle to Mary and Eloise, who then likely thought it would serve me right to leave me at the Cavern Club with no way home. Well, so much for that. Not only do I have a ride home, but Paul McCartney is the one providing it. Take that, jealous girls.

“So how did you end up over here in Liverpool if you’re American?” Paul asked as we drove. “Is your father military? That’s where a lot of the American girls come from.”

“Yes, he’s over at RAF Alconbury. My mother wanted to live here instead of on the base, so here we are. My sister Marion is in college in the States at the University of New York. My mother is so glad she is engaged to an American.” I stopped for a moment. “She doesn’t seem to like the British boys much, and I have no idea why.”

“Her loss, I suppose. What about your father?”

“He takes no issues with boys here. Likes all the ones on the base.”

“Good to hear,” Paul said. “I’m really glad to hear that, actually, because… well, do you think your parents would have a problem with me seeing you? I mean, do they think you’re too young or anything like that?”

I felt like a lightning bolt had just passed through me. I turned and stared at Paul. “You mean, you want to start seeing me?”

He nodded. “I like you. You’re different from the others. You captivate me, Allie, and I’ve known you an hour. I’d love to spend time with you. Do you think your parents would be all right with that?”

“I’ll ask my father. He’s not going to say no, most likely, and even if Mother objects, he vetoes everything she says anyway. Marion was seeing boys at fifteen.”

“So you’re late, eh?” he replied with a wink, and I felt like swooning. “No, just playing with you there, love. I understand. I’ve only seen one girl before, and not for long at that. Not long enough for it to develop into anything serious. Seems anything in a skirt gets infatuated with me and can’t see past my pretty face. Not that I’m saying I think I’m good-looking, you know what I mean.”

“I know.” I glanced out the window. “Turn on this street here.”

“Nice area,” he said. “I live on the other side of Liverpool, in an apartment. Not the best but I don’t exactly care, it’s shelter. I don’t have the money to be extravagant at the moment. Maybe someday.”

“Fourth one on the left,” I said. “Well, maybe in time, the Beatles will get some recognition outside of the UK. I bet you’d all be a hit in America, everyone loves your style of music there. What with Elvis Presley and all.”

“True. You never know. We might, or we might stay in England playing in bars till we’re sixty-four.” He turned into the driveway of my house and turned off the ignition. “I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you tonight, Allie,” Paul said quietly. “I mean it. Will you come back to the club on Saturday and hear our set? You could come early and meet George and Ringo and spend some time backstage with me before the show starts.”

“I’d love to, Paul,” I answered. I unzipped my purse and pulled out the little memo book I always carried with me and a pen. I jotted our phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Call me and tell me exactly what time.”

“I was about to ask for that anyway,” he said. “So I can properly ask your father.”

I smiled. “Thanks.” I opened the car door and put one foot on the sidewalk. “Good night, Paul,” I said. “Thanks for the ride home.”

“You’re welcome, Allie,” he said, giving my hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you Saturday or maybe sooner, if I get your father’s permission. Have a good night, love.”


	3. Chapter Three

3 March 1962.

Liverpool, England.

**ALLIE:** Needless to say, my mother is literally hyperventilating at the mere thought of an English boy being interested in me. I can see this is going to cause a whole lot of tension between me and her now. Oh, well. She can just immerse herself in planning perfect sister Marion’s perfect little wedding to her perfect American lawyer… umm, did I mention my mother acts like my sister is perfect?

My father, on the other hand, takes no issue with Paul seeing me. I got a phone call from my father Thursday after he got back to the base, and he said that he had just spoken with Paul on the phone. “And?” I asked, feeling a nervous knot building in my middle.

“I have no objections,” Dad said. “Seems like a nice boy. I’ll want to meet him come Saturday. So I’m going to have to ask you wait till then to see him. All right, Allie?”

“Perfectly all right, Dad,” I answered. “Mother is not too pleased.”

“Well, you just ignore your mother. I’ll handle her. See you tomorrow evening.”

“Goodbye,” I replied, then hung up.

It’s Saturday, finally, and I’m waiting for Paul to come by the house before we head to the club. The Beatles’ set starts at 8pm but he said he’d get me around six. Mother has conveniently gone into town to go to market, which I find rather rude on her part, but if that’s how she feels, fine. Dad is here so that makes me feel less abandoned.

I obsessed for over two hours over what dress I should wear and how I should do my hair. It’s strange for me to think of such things, especially since a mere three days ago I thought the girls at the club were crazy for getting so decked out to go see the band.

But, I reminded myself as I slipped into one of my favorite dresses- a short blue one with pale pink lace edging the low-cut neckline- I was actually there for one of the band members who had noticed me. I got the attention of the most eligible one simply by speaking my mind and getting accidentally overheard. Now that was something to be proud of.

I brushed out my hair slowly, letting it fan back over my shoulders with each stroke of the brush. I considered pinning it up but decided against doing so. I had located the brush Mother uses to apply the rogue, so my cheekbones have a bit of subtle color added to them tonight. I changed to using my little white handbag and pulled my good gray light coat from the closet. I felt pretty, for once in my life. I’ve never had an excuse to look pretty before, really. The mere thought that someone actually cared about me, especially someone as nice as Paul, brought tears to my eyes, and I had to blink them back as to avoid smearing my fresh mascara.

I glanced at my alarm clock. 5:47pm. Might as well go into the living room to wait. I opened my door and stepped into the hall just in time to hear my father call, “Allie! Your friend is here!” I dropped my purse. Goodness, what was it about Paul that made my poor handbag leap from my fingers? I bent down and retrieved my purse, checking my reflection in the hall mirror as I went past. I stopped for a moment outside the living room and took a deep breath. “Don’t be nervous, Allie,” I told myself. I opened the door to the living room and stepped inside.

 

**PAUL:** So I got here a little early, but no matter. I was glad, in a way, since that gave me time to meet Allie’s father in person in case he needed to go over some sort of expectations with me. 

“You must be Allie’s father,” I said to the tall uniformed man who answered the door after I rang the doorbell twice. “I’m Paul McCartney.”

“Anthony Morgan,” the man replied, shaking my hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Paul.”

“You too, sir.” I stepped inside the house and glanced around. Everything was neat and orderly, the definition of “a place for everything and everything in its place.” Allie’s mother must be partial to blue, I noticed, taking in the pale blue curtains, the pale blue flowered wallpaper, and the dark blue living room sofa and chairs. “I appreciate the permission to spend time with your daughter,” I said. “She’s an amazing girl, Mr. Morgan.”

“Thank you, Paul,” he replied. “She and I are quite close. I’m sure she mentioned her mother is a bit stiff. Shame, but I generally override any decisions Elizabeth, her mother, makes regarding Allie. Besides, things have been a mess as of late with our oldest daughter Marion’s wedding in July. Elizabeth stays pretty occupied with that.”

I nodded. “Allie mentioned that.” I hear a door behind me swing open, and I turned to see Allie step into the room. She looked absolutely gorgeous in a pale blue dress, a grey coat, white pumps, with her hair hanging smooth and loose down her back and a touch of cosmetics highlighting her features. The mere sight of her was arresting, and I drew in a deep breath.

She smiled when she saw me. “Hello, Paul,” she said, and I felt my pulse speed up at the sound of her voice. “Good evening, Allie,” I replied. “How are you tonight?” 

“Perfectly well, and you?” She shifted her handbag to her right wrist.

“As good as can be.” I looked at my wristwatch. “Shall we get going now? It’s a bit past six.”

“Yes, I think so.” Allie walked over to her father and kissed his cheek. “See you in a bit, Dad,” she said. “I’ll be in by eleven.”

“Don’t worry too much if you’re late,” Mr. Morgan said. “Your mother never enforced Marion’s curfew, I’m not terribly worried. You two have a good time.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she said as we headed for the door. “It was good to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” I said. “I’ll take care of your daughter.”

“I trust you,” he replied with a smile.

“I like your father,” I told her, opening the car door on the passenger side.

“I do too,” she answered. “He’s very easy-going. The favorite among the officers on base, I’m told. I dread you meeting my mother. I hope she doesn’t try to scare you off.”

“I doubt she can manage to do so.” I turned at the stop sign and started towards the Cavern Club. “I like you too much.”

“I like you too, Paul,” Allie responded. “I’ve only known you three days but… I can’t really put it into words.”

“I understand what you’re getting at,” I told her. “I feel the same way.”

We made it to the club a little after 6:30, and the queue to get inside was already winding around the block. I sighed inwardly. Silly girls. I glanced at Allie in the passenger seat and smiled to myself. All the others in the audience would be angry if they knew I was potentially seeing someone. Oh, but that was their loss. I couldn’t say I much cared, either.

“How in the world do you get in here without being mobbed?” Allie asked me. I parked my car in an alleyway behind the club, but the crowd could still be seen even from back here. “I’d be scared to death!”

“We just have to sneak in, really,” I said, opening the door on her side and reaching for her hand. “It gets nuts though. Some crazy pack of girls jumped John back here once and he cut his hand up pretty badly on some glass on the ground. Couldn’t play for a week.”

Allie recoiled in surprise. “That’s terrible!” She maintained her hold on my hand as we walked in the back entrance, which pleased me to no end. Thankfully, we made it in unharmed. I wasn’t so much worried about myself as I was Allie. No telling what those girls would do if they saw her holding my hand. They’d likely try to kill her or something, honestly.

“Look who’s here!” I heard George call out from our dressing room. The door was standing open, and he and John were lounging on the floor smoking cigarettes and eating fish and chips. “Paul, you made it inside! Is this Allie?”

“That’s an affirmative,” I replied. “Allie Morgan, meet George Harrison.”

“I’d shake your hand, but they’re greasy from the chips,” George said. “Nice to meet you, Allie.”

“Likewise, George,” she replied.

“How are you two tonight?” John asked, snuffing out his cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “We’re still waiting for Ringo. I think he got lost somewhere.”

“John, you’re so mean!” George said, punching John’s arm. “You know he’s on his way.”

“I know,” John replied. He crumpled up the sheet of newspaper that the fish and chips had been wrapped in and tossed it in the wastebasket. “First I’ve eaten all day,” he said. “Been far too busy.”

“With Cyn, eh, John?” I asked with a wink. John dug the paper back out of the wastebasket and threw at me as if it were a cricket ball. I ducked and it hit the wall by the door. “Missed you did, John.”

“You ducked!”

“Sorry, here I am!” Ringo exclaimed, walking in a moment later. “Trying to figure out how to avoid the mob out there! It’s crazy!”

“Tell me about it,” I replied. “Ringo, this is Allie Morgan, the girl I told you about the other night. Allie, this is Ringo Starr.”

“’Ello, love,” Ringo said, shaking Allie’s hand. “Nice to meet you. All the crazy nuts out there would go insane if they saw their precious Paulie with a girl, and an American at that! Not that we have issues with that at all. If Paul likes you, then me and John and George here automatically do too. That’s just how things work.”

“Well, Ringo, that makes me feel much better.” Allie sat down on the sofa and I joined her, my hand resting on her knee. She turned to me and smiled, and I felt that familiar weakness wash over me again. I was madly in love with her, and I think everyone else could tell, too.

 

**ALLIE:** I’m falling for Paul. I’m falling for him so hard that it’s almost frightening. It’s like all these different emotions have suddenly come to life inside my heart, emotions that I had no idea even existed a mere week ago. I feel almost like I’ve been liberated from some sort of prison sentence, like my heart was in chains or something prior to Wednesday night. It’s rather scary but also the most amazing, wonderful, tender feeling of them all.

The show starts in ten minutes and once again, I’m by the stage, sitting at the same table, even. This time, I’m here to see Paul, and I could care less what the other girls around think if they notice he and I interacting at all during the set (I can count on at least one wink). I had the table all to myself (mostly due to the fact that I shoved the other three chairs off to the side so that no one could sit with me) and hoped I wouldn’t see anyone I knew from school. I glanced around the club and only saw unfamiliar faces. So far, so good.

It’s showtime, at long last. I straightened in my seat and locked my eyes on the stage, and a moment later, out came the Beatles. Paul saw me almost immediately and gave me a nod. Good, he’s being subtle about this. I don’t want anyone to notice.

I made the mistake about midway through the set of glancing around to see if anyone I recognized had indeed come in. Sure enough, I saw Lucy towards the back of the room, looking annoyed that she wasn’t by the stage. I quickly turned away from her and hoped she hadn’t seen me. I didn’t feel like explaining what exactly I was doing here, particularly the part about me seeing Paul McCartney. That wouldn’t be a pleasant talk to have at all.

Watching the Beatles play filled me with a strong sense of excitement. They were definitely a phenomenon like none I had ever seen before. I can’t recall ever being excited over anyone in the music world before, not even Elvis Presley (now my sister… she’s in love with Elvis. Ssh, don’t tell her fiancé). But the Beatles… they have this aura about them, this almost magnetic pull, if you will. And it’s not just Paul that I’m enthralled with, either, though I am the most attracted to him. I love John’s quick wit, George’s gentle quietness, and Ringo’s friendly nature as well. All four of them are fine lads, and I’ve only known George and Ringo a couple hours. I’m good at reading people, though. My father says it’s one of my many gifts. I would have to agree with him on that one.

Paul had told me about five minutes before they finished playing to sneak through one of the side doors and go back to their dressing room, so I did just that as they were wrapping up their last number, a hit from my own country called “Long Tall Sally.” I slipped through the door surprisingly unnoticed, much to my relief. It would have been my luck to have one of the girls see me and follow me back here. I closed the door to their dressing room and sank down on the sofa. I felt safe in here, for some reason. Maybe it was the knowledge that the boys would be coming back here soon and I would see Paul. I wasn’t sure.

The door swung open and in walked George and Ringo. “Paul will be back in a minute,” Ringo said, tossing his suit jacket on the back of a chair. “He and John were talking to Epstein. What did you think of the set tonight, Allie?”

“I enjoyed it,” I said. “I was worried someone would see me coming back here.”

“Fans, you mean? Yeah, I can understand that. But oh well, you made it! George, leave my jacket alone, it’s fine where it is!”

“I want to sit here,” George replied, flinging Ringo’s jacket to the floor. “It’ll be okay, you’re going to take it to the dry cleaners Monday anyway.”  
Ringo rolled his eyes and sighed. “Whatever, George. Fine. Sit there.” He scooped his jacket up off the floor and draped it over George’s head. “Take that, there, Georgie!”

“Oh, stop it! Why must you pick on me all the time?”

“Because you’re the baby of the group, that’s why!”

“Well, you’re the shortest, yet I don’t pick on YOU!” George shot back.

“It is not my fault I am short. However, it is your fault you are the youngest! So HA!” Ringo was laughing, though, and he punched George lightly on the shoulder.

Seeing the two of them tease each other made me feel lighthearted. It was a sight to behold to see two young men messing with each other in an affectionate way. I was getting attached to the entire band. Something told me this was the start of the most amazing adventure of my sixteen years.

I got home tonight and I could tell just from the stony silence I was met with from my mother that she was mad. She needed to get over it. The way things were looking, Paul and I weren’t exactly going to quit talking any time soon, nor was I going to not pursue friendships with John and George and Ringo. I was sixteen. When would my mother ever accept the fact that I was growing up?

“I take it you were at that club with that boy,” Mother said sharply, not even looking up from her needlepoint. “I don’t know why your father always lets you do whatever you want. You know how I feel about you socializing with the lads here. I can hardly wait to get you back to America next year for college. Hallelujah they skipped you a level and you graduate next spring. I can’t bear the thought of-“

“Mother, please,” I said dryly. “Can’t you just stop it? Things like this sort of just happen. It’s a word called inevitable. Or maybe fate, destiny, things like that. I’m sorry you don’t like what Dad does, but if he thinks it’s ok-“

“He’d think it was okay no matter what it was!” Mother threw down her needlepoint. “I have too much to worry about with Marion and the wedding to be concerned with this, Alexandra Elizabeth Morgan! Just do whatever you want. I wash my hands of the whole affair. Your father can deal with it.” She stalked out of the room and slammed the door to the kitchen.

I sighed and headed for my bedroom. My mother had always been difficult, but lately with the wedding and being here, she’s especially so. No matter… I can steer clear of her, what with school and all during the week.

I took off my dress and tossed it into my basket for dirty laundry and draped my coat across the back of the chair at my vanity table. I pulled on my nightgown and threw myself on the bed then switched off the light. How very difficult mothers can be…

My dreams were a bit more vivid than usual, and I recall most of them being filled with visions of a certain English boy with an adorable smile and the biggest, brightest green eyes you can imagine. No wonder I woke up smiling the next morning.

 

**PAUL:** Here I am, back at my apartment, all alone, as usual. I sighed and stared out the window, watching the occasional automobile pass by on the street below and a gentle winter rain fall against the glass. My thoughts began wandering beyond these four walls, and I found myself unable to keep visions of a certain American girl with lovely blue eyes and an amazing personality out of my mind. 

“Paul, really, you’ve known her three days,” I chided myself, closing the curtains and walking to my bedroom. “Really…”

I unbuttoned my shirt and added it to the growing pile of laundry in the corner. I hate washing clothes, even though it is of course a necessary part of our lives (though I suppose I could wear unclean laundry, but that wouldn’t exactly be pleasant). I added my socks and pants to the pile next and laid down across the bed. I didn’t even bother pulling the blankets over myself. It was too warm in the apartment. I wished the landlord wouldn’t run the furnace so much, but I couldn’t do a thing about that.

I hated being alone all the time. John had Cynthia, and Ringo and George still lived at home, but me… no, I’m here by myself. I know it was my choice to leave home and attempt to gain some independence, but I hadn’t realized independence would be this lonely. 

My mind was too cluttered to sleep, yet I was overcome by a strange, strong sense of fatigue the moment I stretched out on my bed. This had been a crazy week. Shows, performing, avoiding crazy fans… and meeting Allie. Meeting her was the highlight of my week. Now that she was in my life, perhaps she would help break the cycle of monotony that plagued me. I could only hope so.


	4. Chapter Four

17 March 1962.

Liverpool, England.

**ALLIE:** I never realized what a big deal St. Patrick’s Day is here in the UK, but I guess since we’re not only close to Ireland but also home to many of Irish descent, it makes sense. Paul told me yesterday that I had to wear something green or he’d pinch me (he said he picked that up from some of the American tourists who came to the festivities last year and he liked it), so I was indeed wearing the color in the form of a long-sleeved knit shirt paired with my long black skirt. Now he can’t do anything.

“Excuse you, you don’t have a bit of green on you at all!” I exclaimed when I met up with him outside the Cavern. He’d asked me to go out to the festivities in the city centre and I had agreed (of course). “You know what that means.”

“Correction, I am!” he shot back. “My eyes are green.”

“Green eyes don’t count, Paul,” I said. “At least, not to me.”

He rolled his eyes before letting out a laugh. “Whatever you say, love. I’m just teasing you anyway.” He took my hand and we began walking down the sidewalk, and two things struck me in that moment. One, I always wondered exactly what he meant when he called me “love,” as I know it is a British term of endearment, but still… then, of course, the hand-holding. He’s held my hand every single time we’ve been out together since we started dating, and not just casually held it either, more of gripped it in a gesture that was protective and somewhat tender. I think I’m in love with him, but I don’t know if he thinks the same about me or not. I’m too nervous to ask him, seeing as I don’t really think it is the girl’s place to inquire of such things.

Most people would say it is not realistic to be in love after only having known one another for nearly three weeks, but I don’t really agree with that. Call me naïve, I don’t much mind. This is the first time in my life that someone of the opposite sex has ever treated me this way and been interested in me, so I’m of course very happy that such a sweetheart likes me so much. It’s partially my fault, as I have always been very shy in school (it comes with being a military child and being moved all over) but I’m not like that with Paul. I can open up and talk to him without feeling like he’s looking down on me, and I feel comfortable being with him. Plus he’s just so cute… I don’t want to sound shallow, but it is true. He’s very cute and I have never thought I’m overly gorgeous, so having him like me in this way… it makes me feel much more confident about myself.

We were sitting on one of the sidewalk benches in city centre watching the public celebrate the holiday in more ways than I had ever seen- music, dance, parades, plays, and drinking, of course- when Paul turned to me and looked at me for a long minute. “You’re very pretty, has anyone ever told you that?” he said softly. “I was sitting here watching some of these other girls and they aren’t anywhere near as pretty as you are.”

“My dad says that, but he’s my dad, that’s what he should say,” I replied quietly. “You think I’m pretty?”

He nodded. “Yes you are. You’re very, very pretty. You’re beautiful.”

I’d never heard anyone other than my father say that, and I bit my lip to keep from crying. “You’re the first person to tell me that outside my family,” I said. “But you’re also the first person I’ve ever dated, too.”

“Really?” He sounded surprised. “I’d have thought the boys at the Institute would have been all over you!”

“No one much likes me at school,” I answered. “They’re all jealous because of my grades and they don’t much like the fact that I’m an American in their territory. I didn’t exactly ask to move here, they need to take that up with my father and the Air Force.”

“I’m glad you moved here. I haven’t been so happy in my life since I met you. You’re amazing, Allie. You’re pretty and smart and funny and sweet and just overall such a wonderful person. I’m proud that I am dating you.” He leaned over and kissed me softly on the cheek, and I felt my temperature rise at the feeling of his lips on my skin. He’d never kissed me before, and I… it was one of the most beautiful feelings in the world.

What he said next, though, pretty much left me speechless for a good long moment. “I love you,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you this soon, but I decided not to wait. I don’t know how you feel about me, but I can tell you right now, I love you, Allie.” He put his arm around my shoulders, and I didn’t even bother to try not to cry. He loved me… I was a bit overwhelmed at his words, but hearing him tell me that filled me with a feeling like none other I had experienced yet in my sixteen years. 

“I love you too,” I whispered. “I was thinking earlier that I wanted to tell you that I did but I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I’m not very good at telling people how I feel. I never know for sure if anyone wants to listen to me or not.”

“Don’t be shy, love, you can tell me anything,” was Paul’s response. “I’ll listen. I’m not the kind of person who’s going to blow you off if you want to talk to me about something.”

“I’m just still getting used to being with you, I guess,” I replied. “I’ve always been kind of a loner and an outcast, and then I met you and you actually want to be with me and you want to talk to me and get to know me. It makes me feel like somebody wants me for once in my life.”

“I can see a lot in our future. Yes, I said ‘our.’ I don’t plan on going anywhere. Now that I have realized I love you, I don’t want to leave you.”

 

**PAUL:** I have been in love with her since the second I laid my eyes on her, but I didn’t exactly want to rush into this, after all. I want to take this slowly and let our relationship develop in as natural of a way as possible without immediately jumping into things we might regret later on.

I mean it when I say I don’t want to leave her. I didn’t tell her (I will eventually though) but I can see how this is going to end, and it will end with us getting married in the future. How do I know that after only about three weeks? I can’t really explain it, to be honest. I feel connected to her on a level that I have never experienced with anyone else before in my life.

I know that the entire female population of Liverpool thinks I am drop-dead gorgeous. I know that they all dream of being the one who will get to be with me. They’re out of luck, though. I don’t love any of the Liverpudlian girls. I love an American girl and plan on always loving her. I plan on making this beautiful American girl my wife whenever that happens in our future, and I intend to stand by her side for the rest of my life.

I think Allie was a bit shocked when I kissed her earlier, as she immediately blushed a deep crimson and seemed flustered. I wanted to kiss her on the lips but I didn’t want to do so without asking her first. I looked at her and cupped her cheek in my hand, and she looked back at me, her eyes holding my gaze, and she tilted her head a bit to the side, and we leaned in closer, and then…

I felt a sensation like an electric shock course through my veins when I touched my lips to hers, and I took that as yet another sign that we’re meant to be together. When we pulled away, she looked up at me and smiled, blinking back tears. “I’ve never kissed anyone before,” she said. “I hope I did all right.”

“You were fine, love. I’ve kissed a couple girls before, but I never felt anything like this. I didn’t want to kiss you without asking, but I think you figured out what I was thinking.”

“I could guess,” Allie answered. “Will you… I mean, do you mind if we… will you kiss me again?”

I smiled. “Of course I will.” I kissed her longer and deeper this time, my hand behind her head and her arms around my neck, and I couldn’t help but notice the stares that we were getting from some of the other girls in the vicinity. Oh well. Let them stare at us. I’m in love and I can’t help but let the whole entire world know it.


	5. Chapter Five

7 April 1962.

Liverpool, England.

**PAUL:** I asked Allie to come down to the club after lunch today and bring some of her records from America with her. We need something different from all this usual stuff for our set, and America is where all the good rock-and-roll is coming from nowadays. I’m familiar with Elvis Presley but that’s about all. 

Allie met me at the Cavern around one, a stack of albums in her hands. “Hi, Paul!” she exclaimed when she saw me, standing on her toes and kissing me on the cheek. I threw my arms around her waist and lifted her, and she shrieked in delight and dropped the records on the sidewalk. “Oh, Paul, now look what you made me do!” she said, her arms now around my neck and her cheek pressed against my forehead. “Good thing they’re in their sleeves and not exposed!”

I laughed and kissed her forehead. “They’re fine, love,” I said, setting her back down and kneeling to gather the records. “See? No harm done.”

“I know.” She took her albums from my hand and smiled. “Let’s go in, shall we? It’s a bit chilly out here even with my sweater on. Strange weather for April, hmm?”

“A bit, perhaps,” I replied, opening the side door to the club. Thankfully, no one was milling about now in the streets, so we were able to enter without fearing for our lives. 

I can’t believe I’ve been with Allie almost two months. It’s been the best, oh, I’d say about six weeks, of my life so far. We’ve spent every Saturday together since we started going out as well as Friday nights and Sunday afternoons. We try to see each other during the week, but with Allie enrolled in school and me busy with the band rehearsing and composing, time together from Monday to Friday night is hard to come by. We manage, though, and so far, everything is working out beautifully between us. I’m so happy I met her.

George and John and Ringo were on the stage in the empty club tuning guitars and chatting when we walked in. “Allie! Did you bring the records?” George said. “I brought my record player if you did.”

“Yes I did!” she replied, handing him the albums. “Sort through them and see what you think. Those all belong to me. I’ll ask my father if I can borrow his if you’d like.”

“This should get us started and get inspiration going,” George said, shuffling through the stack. “Chuck Berry. Roll Over Beethoven. I think I’ve heard this one before.”

“It’s good,” Allie said, sitting on the edge of the stage, her feet dangling over the side.

“Put it on there, George, let’s give it a listen,” John urged. “The title alone interests me.”

George placed the record on the player and set the needle gently on top. We sat listening to the music, and once the song was over, I spoke up. “I like that one. Sounds like we could give it a try, eh?”

“I like the idea,” Ringo said. “Who on lead?”

“Well, George, you wanted to listen. Why don’t you take lead?” John suggested. “Come on, let’s try it. I think we can play by ear, don’t you, Paul? Ringo?”

I nodded in agreement and reached for my bass, which had already been brought out and tuned for me. I glanced over at Allie, who sat watching us wordlessly. I didn’t feel nervous playing with her around like I did for an entire audience, even though the mere thought of her being near me made me lightheaded with joy. I was surprised John tolerated her hanging around, but he was actually the one who had encouraged me to pursue a relationship with her to start with.

We spent about the next hour working on that song, adding our own little twists and variations to it as we went along. We also sifted through the other records as well, even though John vehemently declared that we were not covering anything by Elvis (“How could we live up to THAT kind of greatness? No, best leave the originals as they are!”). In the end, we decided to try “Roll Over Beethoven” with George on lead, “Baby It’s You” originally by the Shirelles with John on lead, and “A Taste of Honey” from that play of the same name performed here a couple years ago. I took lead on that one.

“I bet the club manager gets mad we’re going for a more rock-and-roll set tonight,” John mused. “Since all the others do blues.”

“I’m sick of doing what the other bands do,” I replied. “Don’t you want to stand out, John?”

“Well… yeah…”

“Good. Then let’s be different. Let’s play ourselves away from this place.”

 

**ALLIE:** I’m glad the Beatles are going to use some of the American rock-and-roll numbers in the performance tonight. They’re well-suited to rock songs, if you ask me. There’s just… I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but there’s something about them that leads me to believe they’re not going to be playing solely in the Cavern Club much longer. They’re different, special… unique. They have a natural charm, a charisma, if you will, that’s magnetic and powerful. America would love them. And plus there’s many, many more girls in America than there are in the UK… every one of them would be swooning overnight.

“I think I’ll walk around the corner for fish and chips, anyone else?” George said, placing his guitar in its case. “I’m starving.”

“Sounds gear,” John replied. “I’ll come. Ringo? Paul? Allie?”

“Yes, me too,” Ringo said. 

Paul shook his head. “Bring us back some,” he said, handing several coins to George. “I’d like to be with Allie by myself for awhile… that is, if you’re all right with that, love.”

“I was about to say the same thing,” I told him. 

John winked at Paul before disappearing with George and Ringo out the side door. The club was empty and silent now that we were the only two people inside. 

I sighed and leaned my head against Paul’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of whatever cologne he was wearing mixed with the faint aroma of the laundry soap from washing the clothes. He put his arms around me and held me against him, and I felt my pulse leap. This is the closest physical contact we’ve had so far, short of the basic hugging and hand holding. There’s something inside of me that yearning for another type of physical contact, but… I don’t know about that. There’s not been any pressure on Paul’s end regarding wanting to sleep with me, but I have been turning the idea over in my mind for about a week now. Strange for the girl to be doing the thinking where sex is concerned, I know… he might be thinking the same thing but I’m not about to ask him. If such a thought is in his head, he can volunteer it to me. I will say this, though- if he wants to sleep with me, there will be no convincing needed on my end. I’d do so in an instant.

 

**PAUL:** Holding Allie this close to me is stirring a longing in me that I had no idea even existed until this moment. I know what you’re thinking- what nearly twenty-year-old lad who is attractive to nearly the entire female population is just now seriously thinking about sex? That would be me.

I’m not stupid, I know when I am physically attracted to someone. I’ve never had a physical attraction so strong though that I’ve wondered what it would be like to sleep with the person until now. I’ve never been with a girl in that way before- the closest I’ve ever gotten was with a friend from school (can’t even remember her name now), and we mainly just made out like crazy people for a good half hour before her mother caught her. John keeps asking me when I’m ever going to sleep with a girl and I keep telling him I’m waiting for the right one to come along- but he’s such a womanizer, he wouldn’t know what that last phrase means. I know he’s doing “it,” as they all like to say, with Cynthia, it’s quite obvious, and I hope he’s sticking with just her for the time being. I can’t say about George and Ringo, neither of them really discuss things like that with me. With John maybe, since he’s so open and pushy about typical male behavior, but not me.

Allie sighed and looked up at me, a look of adoration gleaming in her eyes. I leaned in and kissed her on the lips, and I felt a literal jolt shoot through my body. I’ve kissed her a couple other times on the lips (I mainly stick with her cheek or forehead), but this time, I felt something take hold of me that I never knew existed. She let out a soft moan and leaned into me, kissing me back even harder, and I felt my sense of control starting to spiral downward. We couldn’t exactly have sex on the stage, I knew, and I forced myself to jerk myself back to reality. It just wasn’t time yet, but hopefully, it would be soon.

 

**ALLIE:** I went home tonight filled to the brim with feelings and emotions that I had never experienced before until now. It’s amazing how one kiss from one person can do that to you.

Paul kissed me again right before he dropped me off at home, though not as intensely as earlier. It wouldn’t be in either of our best interests to get that hot and heavy in front of my house. Still, just the sensation of his mouth covering mine drove me wild with a desire that was foreign to me even yesterday. I wanted him. I wanted him so badly that I felt that if I didn’t get him soon, I’d go insane from longing. I wanted everything about him to be mine- his body, mind, and heart- and mine only. 

The house was dark and quiet as I crept in to my room. I was surprised my mother wasn’t waiting up for me, but I guess my father told her not to. I peeked in the ajar door of their room and saw my dad sitting in the chair reading by the light of a table lamp, Mom asleep on the bed. He looked up and nodded at me, and I continued on to my own bedroom.

I shut my door gently and turned on my bedside lamp. The light cast a soft glow over the furniture in my room, one that I almost found romantic thanks to my current mood. I slipped off my dress and stood for a long moment looking at myself in the mirror. I ran my hands down my chest and flat, toned stomach, and I imagined Paul’s hands doing the same thing. I got slightly dizzy at the mere idea and grabbed the side of my vanity table to steady myself.

_You’re sixteen_ , I thought, pulling my nightgown out of my top dresser drawer. _Why all the thoughts about sex_?

“I know why I’m thinking about it,” I replied to the thoughts in my mind. “I love him.”

I can’t believe I admitted it to myself, finally. I’d been struggling with the idea now for several days, but suddenly, it just seemed so right to say to myself that I loved him. “Paul,” I whispered, “I love Paul.” Those three words make me feel weak. I collapsed on my bed and buried my face in my pillow. Did I love him enough to give myself to him completely, to have sex with him?

Yes. Yes, I most certainly did.

 

**PAUL:** It’s 3am and I cannot sleep. I’ve been lying in bed for over three hours staring up at the ceiling, my thoughts wandering to places they honestly don’t need to be. I just can’t help myself.

I’ve never felt this strongly for a girl before in my entire life, and I can’t get Allie off my mind for even a single second. I’ve never been so preoccupied before. I can’t sleep, I can’t think of anything but her… 

I turned onto my left side and switched on my bedside lamp. I reached for the small composition book I kept on my nightstand and flipped it open to the first blank page I could find and began to write.

It took me till 5am, but I did it. I have the lyrics written for a new song, and now I need to get John to help me with the music. I think Allie will be quite surprised when she hears it, because it’s about her.

*

“You know, I like this,” John said. We had met for breakfast at a small café near John and Cyn’s apartment so I could show him what I had written. “I think a rock-and-roll tune will fit it nicely. Something along the lines of Chuck Berry or Little Richard, eh?”

“My thoughts too,” I replied, setting my teacup down. “I wasn’t going to go further until I got your input.”

“One question, though. Isn’t she sixteen? Your line Well she was just seventeen… that’s not Allie’s age, am I right?”

I shook my head. “It flowed better. Besides, no one will know, plus singing about a seventeen-year-old somehow seems like it will be more… accepted, I guess you’d say.”

“She’s only three and a half years younger than you, Paul, it’s not like it’s a crime,” John answered. “But I get your point. It does flow better and no one but us will know. I think we should set this to music and debut it in a couple weeks.”

“Club manager wasn’t too thrilled we did a rock-and-roll set last night as opposed to blues and jazz,” I said, stirring a cloud of milk into my second cup of tea. “I think he was rather angry.”

“Mr. Wooler? Yeah, no surprise there.” John spread marmalade on one of his scones. “Like I care. The audience seemed to enjoy it. Might boost attendance at that hole-in-the-wall joint.”

“John, I wish we could break away from that place. Allie told me that she thinks we’d be a hit in America, but I don’t know… they already have groups like us, I doubt it.”

“We’re British, all their groups are American, naturally. We’d probably be a riot over there.” John set his spoon down on his saucer. “Who can say, she may be right. Perhaps we’ll find out someday.”

“I don’t know.” I sighed. “I just feel like we’re going nowhere as a band.”

“Oh, come now, Paul. We’re doing all right. I’m not terribly worried.” John set his plate to the side and folded up his napkin on top of it. “You shouldn’t be either.”


	6. Chapter Six

28 April 1962.

Liverpool, England.

**ALLIE:** It’s been three weeks since I last was able to go to the club and see the Beatles perform their Saturday night set- I was sick one week and then the next… don’t ask. It involves my mother, of course. So now it’s the end of the month- April 28, to be exact- and I’ve only gotten to spend one Saturday with Paul. Needless to say, I haven’t been in the best mood lately, either. I hate it when I can’t see him, but you know, I also hate it when I can’t see all four of them. I’ve grown rather attached to the whole band, it’s crazy. But it just feels so right.

I flung open the side entrance to the club and walked inside. I could hear John’s voice wafting through the door leading into the main center of the club, and I heard Ringo respond. I peeked through the door and cleared my throat.

“Look who’s back!” John exclaimed. He jumped off the stage and ran over to me. “Where have you been?”

“Sick, then my mother was in a mood and wouldn’t let me come,” I replied, pulling myself up onto the edge of the stage. “Did I miss anything?”

“No, you’re actually back just in time,” Ringo said. “We’re debuting a new song tonight.”

“Oh, really? What is it?”

“It’s an original. Paul did the lyrics and I helped with the music,” John told me. “But that’s all I’m going to tell you, dear, Paul wants it to be a surprise.”

“Oh, fine, I can wait,” I said. “Where is my darling? And George?”

“Getting fish and chips. I told them I didn’t want any but watch them bring back some for me anyway. You can have my share if they do,” Ringo said to me. “I ate before I came. My mother insisted.”

“You still live at home?” I asked.

“George and I both do. I’m an only child, you see, and when I was much younger, I had both appendicitis and pleurisy. Spent quite a bit of time in a sanatorium as well. My mother is still reluctant to let her boy go.” Ringo set his drumsticks on the stool to his left. “Much as I’d like to get out on my own.”

“Do like me, Ringo, get a girl, then you and her can go live together,” was John’s reply. “Makes things so much easier, you know.”

“I will eventually. I hate to break my mum’s heart by leaving now, I mean, I’m only 21.” Ringo turned back to me. “What about your family, Allie? Paul’s said your mother is a real problem.”

“She is,” I said. “She… it’s a long story. Basically, she doesn’t like me hanging out with all of you and the fact that I’m seeing Paul in particular.”

Ringo nodded. “Doesn’t seem quite fair, but hey, here you are. Must be the classic dad-overrules-mum rule, eh?”

“Pretty much.” I turned at the sound of the side door slamming to see Paul and George, both clutching paper bags emitting the scent of fried fish and chips. “There’s my love!” Paul exclaimed, thrusting his two bags into George’s already full hands and running over to the stage. He grabbed me around the waist and lifted me into his arms. “Are you better now?”

“I am.” I replied, kissing his forehead. “Light case of influenza.”

“It’s that time of year,” he said. He put me down and turned to Ringo. “I did get you fish and chips, but I take it you still don’t want them?”

“Give them to Allie, I told you I ate.”

“We were just trying to be nice,” George replied, handing John one of the bags. “Plus I didn’t know Allie would be here this early.”

“I know, George.” Ringo lightly threw one of the drumsticks at George. “I’m just messing with you.”

“As always!” George replied. “I’m used to it by now!”

 

**PAUL:** We made sure to rehearse the song early this morning in case Allie came to the club in the early afternoon (which she obviously did). John and I came up with a fabulous rocking tune for it, and I have simply titled the piece “I Saw Her Standing There.” Simple, yet to the four of us and Allie, it will have a very powerful meaning as we perform it.

Bob Wooler, the club manager, was a bit angry about our more rock-oriented set a couple weeks ago (“This is a blues and jazz club!” he’s hissed at us afterwards), and we toned down in Allie’s absence. But now that she’s here tonight, might as well get lively again and debut this song. Yes, yes, Mr. Wooler, we’ll do your jazz and blues. But the finale tonight will be our new piece.

John and I had a long chat this morning, and we’ve decided to all sit down and start writing original material of our own. None of the other bands that perform here write their own music, and I’m worried we’ll never stand out and move on from Liverpool if we, the Beatles, don’t make ourselves unique and different. What better way to be different than to produce original material for our performances? George and Ringo agreed with that idea, so next week, we’re going to gather at someone’s house and get to work. I am determined for us to rise above this place and make names for ourselves. We have to. It’s one of my goals.

The set starts in five minutes, and Allie is out in the audience in her usual spot, waiting for us. Waiting for me, mostly, I know, but she does enjoy the company of John and George and Ringo as well. She told me earlier that she finds us as a group “magnetic” and “compelling.” Well. Now to get more people outside of Liverpool to think the same as she does…

“Let’s get going!” John exclaimed. “It’s time! Are you nervous about the song, Paul?”

“A bit,” I admitted. “But we’ll be fine.”

“Bloody right we will be!” George added. “It’ll be great! Now let’s go!”

We went out on stage and assumed our spots, only this time, I was alone at a microphone. We played through our four jazzy bluesy songs before we paused so I could introduce the new song.

“We’d like to introduce a new piece tonight,” I said, looking mainly at Allie and avoiding eye contact with the couple hundred drooling fan girls in the audience. “I wrote it the other night, and John helped write the music with me. It’s called ‘I Saw Her Standing There.’ So here we go!”

_“Well, she was just 17-_  
You know what I mean,  
And the way she looked was way beyond compare.  
So how could I dance with another- Oooh!   
When I saw her standin' there! 

_Well she looked at me, and I, I could see_  
That before too long I'd fall in love with her.  
She wouldn't dance with another- Whoooh!  
When I saw her standin' there! 

_Well, my heart went "boom,"_  
When I crossed that room,  
And I held her hand in mine... 

_Well, we danced through the night,_  
And we held each other tight,  
And before too long I fell in love with her.  
Now, I'll never dance with another- Whoooh!  
Well, my heart went "boom,"  
When I crossed that room,  
And I held her hand in mine... 

_Oh, we danced through the night,_  
And we held each other tight,  
And before too long I fell in love with her.  
Now I'll never dance with another- Whooh!  
Since I saw her standing there   
Since I saw her standing there  
Since I saw her standing there!” 

I looked at Allie, and the look on her face was exactly what I hoped to see. I could tell she knew exactly who the song was about and who it was for. She smiled at me and brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. I felt my heart melt in that moment, and I then knew that I truly loved her.

 

**ALLIE:** I cannot believe that Paul wrote a song about me. It’s very easy to tell, even though when we met, we didn’t dance and I’m not seventeen. I must ask him about those couple of changes. Likely, he did it to protect my privacy. And if that’s the case… I admire and love him even more.

The minute he stepped into the dressing room, sans the other three, I jumped up off the couch and threw my arms around him. “James Paul McCartney!” I exclaimed, using his whole name. “I can’t believe you did that!”

“It was for you, Alexandra Elizabeth Morgan!” he exclaimed back, kissing me on the mouth. “What did you think?”

“Oh, Paul, I loved it!” I said. “It was amazing!”

“Well, I changed your age a bit, mainly because it flowed better than sixteen and because it sounds a bit more appropriate to be singing about a seventeen year old. I know we didn’t dance when we met, but I’m trying to be anonymous about the situation here, for your sake. I did fall for you when I saw you standing there, you know it. So in the end, it all works out.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. I was crying now. “Thank you so much, Paul.”

He embraced me and kissed my forehead. “Anything for you, Allie,” he replied quietly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” was my gentle answer. “Very much.”


	7. Chapter Seven

30 May 1962.

Liverpool, England. 

**ALLIE:** The things I turn over in my mind as I sleep, I swear. I have been laying here for over two hours just staring at the ceiling and thinking, thinking about one person and one person only. We’ve been together three months and yet I feel like it has been forever, as if I have known him my entire life. Something about him has changed me, changed who I am, and for the better at that. He’s opened me up, made me come out of the shell I’ve been residing in for the past sixteen years of my life. I no longer feel as self-conscious as I have in the past, though even he has yet to fully eradicate that piece of me.

Overall, I feel comfortable with him, as I can tell him anything, I can fully trust him, and I also know he is going to be there for me whenever I need him. One thing Paul always has emphasized to me since day one is that whenever I need him, if it is noon or three in the morning, to just call him and he’ll be there, either there in person or there to talk to me over the phone, depending on where he is and what he is doing at the moment. I know most people say things like this and only mean it in passing, but he really does mean it. Granted, I’ve only done so twice, both at around one in the morning when I was having a bad night listening to my parents arguing, and even though I woke him from a dead sleep, he stayed on the line with me for over two hours during both instances, letting me cry and vent as he listened, interjecting soothing remarks every so often. I wonder how many other girls in the world have boyfriends who do things like that, among numerous other occurrences. Maybe quite a few, but then again, maybe not many.

I sat up in bed and drew my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs and resting my chin on my left knee. My bedside clock showed it was a quarter till eleven, and I had been in the bed since nine, having had a headache all afternoon and deciding to retire early in an attempt to feel better. I was incredibly tired, and the pain still throbbed in my head and neck, yet I could not sleep no matter how hard I was trying. I wanted Paul, needed him, yet I didn’t want to simply dial his number and listen to his voice on the other end of the phone. I physically wanted to be with him; I wanted to feel him embrace me, wanted to feel his lips on my forehead and hear his voice whispering in my ear. We’re still in that stage of our relationship where our physical interactions have yet to progress past mild status (much as I want to go all the way with him), and I really just want to be in his arms. There was an overwhelming need just to be near him filling me, a need that I had to fulfill or I would drive myself crazy.

I slipped out of bed and pulled a pair of loose blue pants on under my pale lilac nightgown, putting on my little white flats a moment later. I don’t care, I will do anything to get to him at the moment. I decided to borrow the bike that we keep in the garage (why we have it, I will never know, it just sits there) and use it to get to his place, which is just a couple miles away. I know my parents would freak if they knew I was sneaking out and going a distance alone in the middle of the night, but at this point in time, I do not care at all.

It felt strangely exhilarating to be out alone in the darkness that is Liverpool asleep all by myself, hearing nothing, seeing nothing, just me and the empty main road, dim streetlights every few feet, illuminating the drugstore, a prim little red phone booth, a stray cat foraging for scraps at a restaurant dumpster. My thoughts only vaguely registered such sights, in all honesty. 

I reached his building and leaned the bicycle against his car, the side facing the apartment, and slipped into the lobby, a silent and still atmosphere surrounding me. I crept up the four flights of stairs until I reached his door, and I almost hesitated to knock, but then I decided there was no reason to be hesitant, hadn’t I come all this way to see him anyway? I knocked lightly on the door, waiting a few seconds before knocking again, louder this time, seeing as he probably would not be able to hear me if I was too quiet about it.

I stood in the hall waiting, and I heard soft footsteps coming towards the door a few seconds later. I heard him fumbling with the lock before the door swung open, revealing a half-awake Paul standing in front of me. His hair was a tousled mess and he looked like he was about to fall back asleep, yet he became somewhat more alert when he saw me. “Hi, Allie,” he managed, his voice still edged with drowsiness. “Are you okay?”

“Can I come in?” I asked, and he nodded, holding the door open wider. He shut the door behind me, and I didn’t say anything for a few moments, gathering the courage to ask him what I wanted to do. He put his right hand on my shoulder and cupped my chin in his left hand, tilting my head back a bit to look into my face. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly. “Come on, you can tell me.”

I shrugged. “I don’t really know that there is anything wrong, I just…” My voice trailed off. “I just missed you, that’s all. I couldn’t sleep and got to thinking about you, and I wanted to see you.” I stopped because I was afraid that was enough to make him tell me to leave, but he didn’t. He simply nodded and kissed my forehead. I sighed before speaking up again. “Can I sleep with you?” I asked, so quietly I was certain he didn’t even hear me. “Not... that kind of… oh, you know what I am asking! At least, I hope you do.”

“I know,” he replied. “Yes, of course you can. There’s room for two.” 

“I know I probably should have called you, but I-“

He shook his head, his arm securely around my shoulders. “No. You don’t necessarily have to. You know where I live, and my door is open to you no matter what. By the way, how did you get over here, anyway?”

“We have a bicycle in the garage. I used it.”

“At night? Allie…” He sighed. “That’s not exactly the safest thing to do.”

“Oh well, I made it here all right,” I said. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“Mad? No, of course not,” Paul answered. “Just be careful, please. That’s all I ask.” He pushed the door to his room shut and gestured to the bed. “I tend to use the whole thing,” he said. “But just pick a side and I’ll take the other.”

“The whole bed?”

“Yeah, might as well. Just me in it, after all. Until now, anyway.”

Something about how he said the last sentence struck me as tender, and I looked up at Paul only to be met with a gentle smile, his eyes sparkling a bright shade of green in the dim lamplight. He stroked the side of his hand down my face and I put my arms around him, holding him for a long time in a tight embrace, feeling more secure than I have ever felt in my whole life.

 

**PAUL:** Allie took over the left-hand side of the bed, leaving me to the right-hand side next to my nightstand. Burrowed under my blue quilt and white sheets, she somehow looked small and vulnerable, and I laid beside her, switching off the lamp a moment later. The only light came from the moonlight filtering in through the window behind the bed, turning her blonde hair a silver-blue color. I wanted to gather her against my chest and hold her, but whether I should or not remained the question.

“Paul?” I heard from the other side of the bed, and I turned over on my left side. “Hmmm? What is it, love?” I asked.

“How close to you do you care that I sleep?”

“As close as you want,” I said. “It’s all right. It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong here, after all.”

She seemed hesitant still, and I moved over slightly, holding out my arms to her. She allowed me to embrace her, and I sensed her relax as I held onto her, her head on my shoulder a moment later. “This isn’t too close, is it?” I whispered in her ear. “I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“No. It’s perfect.” Her arms were around me, holding me as tightly as I was holding her. “I love you, I really do.”

“I love you too,” I replied. “This just feels right, you know? I hate sleeping by myself. I get rather lonely.”

“I know, so do I. I never thought to ask you if you minded if I stayed over here,” Allie replied. “But I just couldn’t take being by myself tonight. I wanted to be with you somehow, and I figured this was the best way to do so.”

“It’s okay.” I kissed the top of her head. “What are your parents going to say when they find out you sneaked out to come over here?”

“I could care less. They won’t even know. My dad is on the base, and my mom is never awake sooner that ten in the morning. She won’t even notice.”

“If you say so. I just don’t want you to get in trouble over this.”

 

**ALLIE:** His concern for my well-being is touching, though I’m not at all worried about getting caught sneaking out of the house. I’m a girl with a steady boyfriend now, I can afford to be a little on the rebellious side.

I had my arms around him, my head against his chest, and listening to the steady rhythm of his pulse was soothing. I hesitated for a moment before I slipped my hands under his white t-shirt, my fingers lightly brushing his back, his skin warm and smooth beneath my touch. “You don’t mind, do you?” I asked.

“No,” Paul answered. “Not at all. Go ahead.”

I massaged his back and shoulders gently at first, gradually getting a bit more into it. Paul let out a contented sigh and broke away from me long enough to pull off his shirt and fling it to the floor. “It’ll be easier this way,” he said, giving me an impish wink.

I rolled my eyes, but he was right. I’ve never seen him without a shirt on before, and I must say, the sight of him half-naked is far from disappointing. He’s muscled without being extremely toned, a nice, athletic sort of build. I started to remove my nightgown, but Paul stopped me, reaching up and taking my hands in his. “Not now,” he said. “Don’t tempt me, please. I’m not ready.”

I nodded, relieved on one hand but disappointed on the other. I was ready, ready to give myself to him and go all the way. I had to admire how cavalier he was being about sex, seeing as a good many males would have already been trying to force themselves on me by now.

Not this one. Paul was content to simply lie next to me in bed and hold me, not even letting our extremely close physical contact break him. I wondered about his previous experiences, if he truly did have none as he claimed. I saw no reason for him to lie about a thing like sex; if he had indeed slept with other girls, well, there was nothing I could do about it.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and I realised I had stopped massaging his back and had instead being lying almost limp beside him. “You truly have never had sex before?” I asked, a bit more bluntly than I had planned. 

“No, I’ve never had sex,” he answered. “Ever. Have I wanted to? Of course. I just haven’t found the right girl until now.”

“So you would have sex with me?”

“Yes, I would,” Paul said. “Not now, though. Let’s wait a bit more, okay? Just to be sure…” He trailed off, and I held my breath, wondering what he was going to say next. I just hoped it wasn’t anything bad.

 

**PAUL:** Do I want to give myself to her? More than anything else in the world. I’m surprised at how well I’ve restrained myself since we met, as my level of attraction to her in the obvious sexual sense has been through the roof. Granted, it’s been hard to restrain myself and be a complete gentleman (which is the right thing to do and the thing I intend to keep doing until the time is right), but I have done it by keeping my desires at bay as best I can.

I looked at Allie lying next to me, her face the perfect blend of trust, innocence, and love. “I’ve just wanted to make sure that we’re indeed meant to be together,” I said quietly. “I know the answer to that question now.”

“Well?” she asked, and I detected a hint of fear in her voice. I kissed her softly on the lips before looking into her eyes. “You’re the one,” I declared.

“The one you’re supposed to lose your virginity to?”

I smiled to myself. “Not just that. I don’t know, part of me wonders if you’re the one as in… The One. I’ve dated other girls but I’ve never felt this way for any of them, and I can safely say for the first time since I’ve had girlfriends, I can see myself marrying you.”

“Paul, how can you say that after only three months of dating?”

“Tell me something. Do you see yourself possibly marrying me? Do you feel that way for me?”

Allie was quiet for a moment before she answered. “Yes,” she said. “I do. I can’t see myself with anyone but you.”

I nodded. “It’s the same for me, baby. The exact same.”

“Baby?” she questioned. “You’ve never called me that before.”

I shrugged. “I’ve never really thought about it before, but I do need a pet name for you other than our typical ‘love.’ So you can be my baby from now on. Unless you object to me calling you that.”

“I don’t object.” She moved even closer to me, all of her previous reservations about sleeping close to me having quite clearly vanished. “I like the idea of being your baby.”

“So what am I to you, then, hmm?”

“I’ll have to think about it. For now, you’re still just Paul.”

“I don’t mind just being Paul, after all. I’ve been that for nearly twenty years, I’m used to it, of course.”

“I’ll come up with something eventually.” She was nestled so close to me that she was pretty much on top of me, yet did I care? No, I’d hoped this was how she would end up when she first asked if she could lay down with me. So much for her being nervous about being in the same bed with me.

“You know I love you, right?” I spoke up a few moments later.

“Yes,” Allie replied. “And I love you too.”

“I’d never make you do anything that you don’t want to do because of the fact that I love you and I respect you,” I said. “Which is why I’ll never push something as intimate as sex on you unless it is something you also want. I don’t want to hurt you, be it physically or emotionally.”

“Sometimes I just still can’t believe I actually have you,” she said. “You’re just… everything about you is amazing.”

“I’m human, though. I’m far from perfect, baby. I have faults like everyone else, you know.”

“I know that!” Allie exclaimed. “I don’t think you’re perfect!”

“I’m just warning you so you don’t get into that mentality, okay?”

“Please. I have much more common sense than that. For shame, Paul.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t be offended, love.”

“I’m not.” Allie sighed. “I guess we should be quiet and sleep now. It’s probably pretty late.”

I picked my watch up off the nightstand and squinted at it in the dim moonlight peeking through the slit in the drawn curtains. “A quarter till one,” I said. “Are you tired, Allie?”

“A bit.”

“Okay.” I kissed her forehead. “I’ll be right here if you need me. I don’t usually get up once I go to bed anyway.”

“Unless someone knocks on your door at nearly midnight asking if she can sleep with you,” Allie said wryly.

“Well, yes, but I only let one person do that,” I replied. “Anyone else, well, they’re just out of luck.”

“Thank you for letting me do this,” she murmured, yawning afterwards. “I mean it, Paul. And I love you.”

“You’re welcome. Like I’ve always said, anytime at all that you need me, I’m here. I love you too.”

I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and wonder washing over me as I drifted off to sleep with her in my arms, feeling for the first time in my life like I actually meant something. This girl adored me, loved me, wanted to be with me, and she adored and loved and wanted to be with me for far more reasons than just that I was a musician and apparently attractive. That knowledge was enough to make me vow that I could never lose her for any reason at all, and that I would do everything in my power to let her know that I would always be here for her whenever she needed me. I had finally found the biggest source of happiness in my life so far, and I never wanted that happiness to fade away.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Formerly Chapter Twelve before being edited, which led to a new euphemism for sex amongst my friends on deviantART.

18 June 1962.

Liverpool, England.

**ALLIE:** Tonight is the night. I can feel it in my veins, there’s no need to question it. Tonight is the night when I will give myself completely to Paul, absolutely no limits.

In other words, I’m going to have sex with him.

He turned twenty today. What better birthday gift could his girlfriend give him than herself? I can’t think of one myself. I didn’t tell him that’s what I was planning to do, but I’m sure he’s figured it out, or at least has an idea.

I’m so nervous. It’s mid-afternoon and I won’t even see him for a few more hours, but I can’t suppress the intense feeling of both excitement and apprehension in my chest. It’s a Monday, which means Dad is on the base (he won’t be home this week at all, he’s got a whole crop of new recruits to get through), and Mother is in America planning the rest of the wedding details and won’t be back till after the wedding in three weeks (I have to fly over in two weeks and I’m dreading it), so I’m free to do whatever I desire without fear of getting caught. Life is good at the moment.

The group considered having a birthday party tonight at the club for Paul, but they decided against doing so since it would likely be crashed by a bunch of the usual lunatic fans. I’ve noticed that Lucy hasn’t turned up at the club in about a month. Strange, we don’t even speak anymore. I wonder if she picked up on the fact that Paul and I are together. Likely so.

I sighed and continued staring out my bedroom window, so many thoughts swimming through my mind that I could barely concentrate on anything. I hope I’m making the right decision regarding tonight. I will have to be extremely careful, though. One little mistake and it’s not like I’ll be able to hide I’ve slept with someone after about three months have passed, if you know what I mean. Guys have it made- they don’t have to have the evidence under their sweaters in the event of a slip-up.

I wonder if Paul has even considered sleeping with me himself. It’s not a subject we have discussed- I’m too nervous to bring it up and he’s much too polite and gentlemanly to force the idea on me. I know John gives him fits about still not having slept with anyone yet (John rather candidly discusses his and Cyn’s relations whenever he gets the chance), so part of me wants to do this for him so that John will shut up and get off his back.

But I mainly want to do it for me, and for Paul… for us as a couple. To cement our love for each other. We need this more than either of us even realizes.

 

**PAUL:** I know exactly what Allie has on her mind, and I’m excited and slightly afraid. I know she wants us to consummate our relationship tonight, in honor of my twentieth birthday. She doesn’t have to say it, I can read that in her expressions. It’s quite obvious that is what is on her mind.

I stood in front of the mirror, straightening my tie and combing my hair into place. Epstein is holding a small dinner for the group at his home for my birthday. I asked him if I could bring Allie, but he declined the request, saying he only wanted it to be the group and him. John wanted to bring Cyn but that got shot down too. I think Epstein has a thing for us. It’s no secret he’s gay, and he pays an awful lot of attention to us all, John especially. None of us are gay, of course, so I’m sure he’s very disappointed we aren’t returning the signals. Oh well…

Allie called earlier and asked if she could come to my apartment after dinner. I know why, too, so I naturally said yes. I offered to pick her up, but she said her father had given her permission to use her mother’s car that week. I’m expecting her around ten. This should be a night to remember…

 

**ALLIE:** It’s nine-twenty and I’m ready to leave. I’ve packed a small bag with a few things in case he does want me to stay over for the night. I put my bag and purse in the car, made sure the house was locked up, and got in the vehicle. My hand was shaking as I cranked the ignition. I was getting nervous again.   
“Calm down, Allie,” I told myself. “It’s best for you both and you know it.”

I drove through the quiet streets of Liverpool, my thoughts wandering places they had never gone before. I had no sexual experience, of course. All I knew about sex came from my health classes at the school and from my sister Marion, who made it no secret that she and her fiancé began sleeping together almost immediately (and my mother didn’t say a word- yet she’ll murder me if she finds out what I’m going to do). I only know Paul has no experience either from listening to John rag on him all the time at the club about it. John is amazing and wonderful person and friend to me, but sometimes, he just doesn’t know when to back off, particularly in the world of sex and other taboo subjects. He needs to learn that sometimes, too much information isn’t the most welcome thing on the face of the earth.

I pulled up in front of Paul’s apartment building about twenty minutes later and cut the ignition. I saw a light coming from his window and noticed his car parked about half a block away. The little gathering at Epstein’s must’ve wrapped early, I thought. I picked up my purse and bag and got out of the car, locking it behind me and tossing the key in my handbag. I took a deep breath and entered the building. I opted for the stairs rather than the elevator. I wanted to take a little more time getting up to his apartment on the fourth floor in an attempt to calm my nerves.

I found myself outside his door far too quickly, apartment 4D. The brass knocker on the door seemed to be daring me to grasp it and tap it against the wooden door. I sighed, lifted my hand up, and grasped the knocker. I tapped it lightly three times and waited. I could hear footsteps coming towards the door, and I felt my entire body begin to tremble. “This is it,” I whispered to myself. “It’s time.”

Paul opened the door at that moment. “Allie….” He breathed in an almost evocative tone. “You look…. amazing tonight. So beautiful.”

I felt tears begin to well in my eyes, and I threw myself into his arms. “Oh, Paul…” I murmured. “I’m so nervous. But so happy.”

“I am too,” he replied, holding me tightly against him. “Come on inside, love. No need for you to keep standing in the hall.”

I nodded and released my hold on him long enough to step inside his apartment. He shut and locked the door behind me. “What do you think?” he asked. “It’s not the biggest or the nicest, but it works for me.”

I surveyed his apartment with my eyes, taking note of every little detail, every piece of furniture. We were standing in the sitting room, with a couch, two chairs, and coffee table on a soft blue rug. A small television set was perched on a full bookcase, and numerous paintings and photos- all gorgeous landscape shots- hung on the walls. The kitchen was just off the living room, containing the usual appliances as well as a small table with four chairs. A fifth chair was against the wall right outside the kitchen door. There was also a tiny room to the left with a keyboard, several basses and guitars, and piles of songbooks and blank musical score paper.

And beyond…. The bedroom. I could make out his bed and a small nightstand, dresser barely visible on the wall to the left of the bed. His bedroom was done in soft shades of blue, and I deduced from the look of the rest of the apartment that blue in all shades must be his favorite color. It’s mine too, and just seeing that his bedroom was boasting all the most calming hues of the color made me relax for some reason (must be true that colors can be therapeutic).

“It’s yours, Paul, you’ve made it suit your needs,” I told him. “I love it. I feel comfortable here.”

He smiled and kissed my cheek. “I was hoping you’d say that. Would you like to eat anything? I didn’t really eat at Brian’s. I was too nervous. Or maybe a glass of wine? Do you drink, Allie?”

“I do drink wine, champagne too, but that’s all. My mother let me and my sister have both when we turned fourteen. I’m not sure why she did, but I like it. White in particular.”

Paul nodded. “I agree with you on that one. I do have a bottle of white wine in the kitchen, I’ll go get it. Make yourself comfortable on the couch, or even the… well, you know…”

“I believe I’ll go to the latter,” I told him. “We’ll end up in there soon enough anyway.”

He appeared to be blushing. “Okay. I’ll be right back. I’ll meet you in there.”

I nodded and walked to his bedroom. Once inside, I placed my bags on the floor of his tiny closet and walked into the bathroom. I checked my reflection in the mirror. I looked fine, a little pale, but fine. I chalked the pale part up to nervousness and went back into his room. His bedspread was a lovely blue quilt, and it appeared to be handmade. I ran my hands over it lightly. It was gorgeous. An alarm clock sat on the small nightstand along with his watch and a small composition book and pencil. His dresser had several photos lined up on top of it- one of him and his brother Mike, one of the whole McCartney family (Paul, Mike, and parents Jim and Mary), one of the Beatles, and… one of him and me together. At the club. I’ve never seen this one before. I picked up the frame and looked at the photo. I think George took it, since he carts a camera around a lot. Paul and I are dancing to something John is playing on the keyboard (I can see him in the background banging away at the ebony and ivory keys), and we’re laughing about something. We look like the perfect couple. I placed the photo back on his dresser. We are the perfect couple. It’s not hard to see that.

I took off my shoes and stockings and placed them, along with my coat, in the closet. I sat down on the bed and leaned back against the mountain of pillows piled against the headboard and closed my eyes. 

“Here I am, love,” I heard him say a moment later, his voice the most beautiful sound in the world. He set two wine glasses on the dresser, took off his own shoes and his tie, and joined me on the bed. He passed me one of the glasses and slipped his left arm around me. “To us,” he said, touching his glass to mine. “And to the most special night of our lives.”

I nodded in agreement and took a sip of the wine. “I love your room. It’s so peaceful.”

“Thanks,” he said. “My mother Mary made the quilt. It is one of my favorite pieces of her that I have left. I miss her every day, Allie. I wish she were here to see you. She would absolutely adore you.”

“It’s lovely,” I told him. “I wish I could have known her.”

“You’ll see her someday, I’m sure of it,” Paul said. He took another sip of wine and sighed. “I love you so much, Allie. You don’t even know how happy I am that we’re going to actually go through with this tonight.”

“I know,” I replied. “It isn’t too soon, is it?”

“Almost four months in to the relationship? I don’t think so.” He sighed and looked over at me. "I don't even know really what the best way to, umm, start is. I know that sounds horrid, but it's true."

Hopefully he knows the logistics. I looked up at him and smiled. "Well, maybe we need to do something to get ourselves in the mood."

"Foreplay?" he spoke up, and I nodded. "Foreplay is good," I said. "What do you want to do for it?"

"What are you comfortable with?" he asked, and I smiled to myself. Ever the gentleman. "I don't want to hurt you, Allie."

"Well, it's going to hurt the first time anyway, so I don't much care." I winced at the thought of it hurting when he penetrated for the first time. I hope it isn't a bad pain that will make me swear off sex forever after this. Surely not.

"I'll be gentle," he said quietly, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I promise. I won't hurt you, and if I do, I want you to tell me."

"I will," I said, leaning against his shoulder. "Can I tell you something, Paul?"

"Of course."

I hesitated for a moment. "I'm afraid," I finally spoke up. "I'm afraid it will hurt. I'm also afraid you won't like what you see once I'm naked."

"Allie, baby..." He pulled me to his chest and rocked me gently. "I am not going to hate what I see! How can you say that? That isn't true!"

"Don't you have a preference on what you want?" I asked. "Physically?"

"Not really," he said. "I like blondes. You're blonde, so that didn't help my initial attraction to you. I like... Umm..."

"What?" I asked. Whatever it was, I hoped I had it.

"Well-endowed... If you know what I mean." His eyes were lingering on my breasts, and I felt myself blushing. "You're well-endowed, Allie."

"I know," I said quietly. "I hope that's what you want."

"I love you," he said. "That's why we're doing this. Not because of how big your breasts are or what colour hair you have. I love you, Allie."

"I love you too," I replied, feeling a lump forming in my throat. "I'm sorry I'm acting this way. I'm just nervous."

"I am too." He brought my hand to his chest, and I could feel his heart racing. "I'm so nervous but I'm so happy."

I nodded, and he leaned over to kiss me, cupping his hand behind my head. I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling a strange sensation growing in the lower half of my body, part tingling and part burning, is the only thing I could compare it to. I pressed myself against him and dug my fingers in his hair, our kiss growing more passionate by the second.

"Do you want to get undressed?" Paul asked, his voice breathless. "I need to get these pants off."

I blushed at what I saw, how the front of his jeans was straining against the growing bulge in his pants. “It doesn’t take a man more than two seconds to get aroused,” I quipped, reaching for the zipper on his pants. “Here, I’ll help you.”

I unzipped his pants, trying to keep my fingers from brushing against him, as I didn’t know if he wanted me touching him there or not. I stopped for a minute and looked back up at him, aware that I was beet red, feeling hot and lightheaded. “What now?” I asked.

“I’ll take off your dress if you want me to,” was Paul’s answer. “Does it zip up the back or the side? Or does it button?”

“Someone knows about women’s dresses,” I said with a laugh. “There’s a back zipper. Go for it.”

I gasped when I felt his fingers on the skin of my back, his touch feather-like, training down my back as he undid the zipper on my dress. “I just know these things because John always talked about the girls he’s done,” was his answer. “John seems to enjoy detailing women’s clothing for some reason. He thinks Cynthia is a smart dresser.”

I smiled to myself and closed my eyes when I felt his hand on my bra. “Do you mind if I unhook this?” he asked.

“No, go ahead.” I had slipped out of my dress and was sitting on his bed in just my underwear. “But I want to take off your shirt first.”

“Okay, love.” He sat still as I undid the buttons on his white dress shirt, pulling it off him a moment later. I ran my hands over the smooth skin of his chest, appreciating how he had a nicely toned build without being overly muscled or athletic. We pulled off his jeans in unison, both of us sitting in just our underwear, and he leaned in to kiss me, pushing me back against the pillows on his bed. “Tell me if I’m making you uncomfortable,” Paul said, breaking our kiss. “Or if I’m hurting you. Please, Allie.”

“Stop worrying. You’re fine.” He had removed my bra and panties by now, and I reached to pull off his underwear, flinging it on the floor with the rest of our discarded clothing. I was aware of a strange and wonderful feeling growing between my legs, mostly since I just saw the source of the bulge in his pants. I found myself vaguely wondering if he was even going to fit in me. “Are you going to fit?” I asked.

“I guess so. I mean, I don’t see why I wouldn’t.” He glanced down at where my eyes were focused. “It might hurt, though.”

“It MIGHT hurt?” I had to laugh at that. “You’re… not small.”

“We all… measured one time. Right about eight inches. When it’s not, you know, up and ready. I think it gains when it is.”

Oh shit. That thought was turning me on even more, the thought that he was that lengthy. Well then. We resumed making out, and I loved the warmth of our skin-to-skin contact, at how we were both unclothed and neither one of us seemed the least bit ashamed or shy to be naked in front of the other one. I dug my fingers through his hair and leaned my head back, feeling his lips trailing down my neck and shoulders. “Oh my God,” I moaned. “Please, just don’t make me keep waiting, please…”

He sat up abruptly and let out a cry of dismay. “Oh my God, oh shit… I’m sorry, oh my God!”

“What, what’s wrong?” I asked, but not more than two seconds after I asked, I figured out why he was blushing crimson and wouldn’t look me in the eye. There was something on my stomach, and I knew exactly what that something was. “Oh, it’s all right! Listen, it’s fine. This is the first time you’ve done this, you can’t help it!”

“I think I’m supposed to come during the orgasm, not way before it! And certainly not on your stomach, oh God… I’m so embarrassed, Allie, oh shit!” He had his face buried in his hands and wouldn’t even look at me.

“Just get something and clean me up, it’s fine. I don’t want to move too much and run the risk of it getting near me down there.” The last thing I needed was to get pregnant from him prematurely coming. “It’s all right. I’m not mad at you, it’s all right.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. It’s fine.” I kept laying still against the pillows. “Just get a washcloth or something and get it off and we’ll resume what we were doing.”

“If I can even get it back up and going,” he muttered, standing from the bed and stepping into the bathroom, returning a moment later, gently running a warm washcloth over my stomach. “I’m sorry, Allie, I really am. I didn’t mean to do that, I really didn’t.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, Paul, I’ve already told you that. This kind of thing can happen.” I pulled him back down on top of me. “Although maybe putting on a condom would help with keeping it off me?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess that would be smart.” He leaned over and pulled open his nightstand drawer. “I got some yesterday. I didn’t know what to buy so I asked John, and he was actually good about helping me and not laughing.” He tore open the foil packet and unfurled the rubber, sitting up to put it on. He fumbled with it for a moment before he got it on securely, and I smiled up at him. “See, it’s fine. You’re back ready to go again,” I said. “Don’t let that little accident get to you, there was nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Easy for you to say,” Paul replied. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I was planning on this night being romantic and perfect.”

“Oh, yes, like having first-time sex is going to be perfect.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Now, where were we…”

We continued making out for about five minutes, his hands on my breasts and stomach, my fingers in his hair, my senses growing more and more heightened with every passing moment. “Are you ready?” he asked at long last, and I nodded, closing my eyes, hoping that this wasn’t going to hurt too much.

Oh but it did. He was barely even in me before I let out a cry of pain, and his head snapped up, a look of worry in his eyes. “What happened?” he asked. “What did I do?”

“It hurt!” I managed. “Oh my God, that was not pleasurable in the least!”

“I’m not even in very much,” he replied. “Do you want me to stop? If I’m hurting you, I don’t want us to do this.”

“It’s just going to hurt until I get used to it,” I said. “I want this, Paul.”

“Okay,” he said quietly, and I could tell he was hesitant to keep this up after I had let out that cry and told him it hurt. He gently kissed my forehead and resumed penetrating me, and I felt him going slowly, I guess in an attempt to avoid hurting me even more.

It was strange to have something in me like this, especially something that was part of another person. I opened my eyes and looked into his, letting out a laugh. “This just feels odd,” I said. 

“How does it feel?” he asked, beginning to thrust ever so gently. Still trying to be gentle. His sweetness and courtesy never ceased to amaze me.

“Full,” I said, moving my hands to his shoulders. “And… complete.”

“I like that,” Paul said, his breathing becoming more erratic the faster he moved. “Complete… that’s a good way to put it.”

I closed my eyes and relaxed, the pain still present but a bit duller than it was initially. There was a sensation building deep within me, and I knew exactly what the product of that sensation would be. I knew I had to stay relaxed and calm if I expected to actually come and enjoy it, as I didn’t want my first time to be without any sort of pleasurable outcome.

I began to moan, quietly at first, but as the moments passed, I found myself getting louder and even unable to stop myself from crying out at the sensations began to spread throughout my body. He wasn’t being quiet either, vocalising even louder than I was, and then suddenly…

I cried out his name and buried my face in his shoulder, feeling my entire body go weak as I came around him, unable to keep from shaking as the orgasm took control of every piece of me. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I tried to come to terms with what had just happened, with what my body had just done. Who knew the human body could be capable of producing something so beautiful, so exquisite, even after it took pain to get to this point.

“Allie!” he cried, and I felt him shaking beneath my touch, and I knew he had just reached the same plateau I had moments ago. I wrapped my arms around him and held him, noticing that he too had a few tears streaming down his face. There was something beautiful about knowing that my body had brought him to tears, that I had helped him achieve something so pure and so perfect. No wonder we were both in tears.

 

**PAUL:** I brought her to this feeling three times by the time it was all said and done. Three times. I guess women are capable of more than one. I wasn’t so fortunate, but I’m not going to complain about that. The one moment I experienced myself was enough to send me over the edge from absolute ecstasy, and I’m actually happier to know she was able to keep this up without a lot more pain or discomfort. I was afraid when she cried out earlier and told me I was hurting her, as the last thing I wanted was to hurt her.

She was laying in my arms, her head against my chest, both of us still naked, the sheets pulled up to our waists. I had turned off the lamp and was lying in the dark with her, stroking her hair, trying to come to terms with what we had done. How we had given something like this to each other.

“Well?” I asked, kissing her forehead. “Are you all right, Allie?”

“I’m okay,” she answered. “I’m sore and I’m tired. I still feel kind of weak.”

“I think that’s normal, baby. I don’t think that’s anything to worry about.”

“How do you feel, Paul?”

“I’m tired,” I said. “Overwhelmed. Relieved that I didn’t hurt you too much.”

“You weren’t technically hurting me. It’s supposed to hurt.” Allie moved even closer to me. “Don’t still be embarrassed about what happened earlier. I didn’t mind it. It was all right.”

“I’m okay now,” I said. “In the moment, though, I wasn’t.”

She nodded, and we laid in silence for a few more moments. “I love you so much,” I said. “Thank you for giving yourself to me. I couldn’t ask for anything any better than that.”

“I’m just glad you wanted me too,” Allie said. “Do you think we’ll do this again? I… I really want to.”

“Of course we will. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here for a very long time.”

“I love you,” was her reply, and she settled against me and closed her eyes. I kissed her lips and held her closer, feeling her pulse pounding and her steady breathing. “I love you too, Allie,” I said softly. “I’ll be right here.”

 

**ALLIE:** I woke up the next morning in a state of elevated bliss and a haze of happiness. Never had I ever been this happy in my life. Paul was still asleep, and I was surprised and thrilled to find that I was still being held against him. Neither one of us must have moved at all as we slept. Highly unusual for me, as I usually toss and turn and end up having to retrieve all the blankets from the floor when I wake up freezing at 3am. I sighed and laid my head back down on his shoulder. I didn’t want to wake him up but now that I was no longer asleep, I wanted him to be awake too. I couldn’t stand us not being pretty much glued together at all times. I gently rubbed his shoulders and began kissing him on the neck, and he stirred slightly before opening his eyes. Paul smiled and kissed my forehead. “G’morning, love,” he mumbled sleepily. “Sleep well?”

“I did,” I said, kissing him again. “What about you?”

Paul nodded. “Having you so close made it easier. I don’t think I’ve ever slept so well in my life. We didn’t even move!”

“Well, Paul, I’d say we had quite the workout last night, wouldn’t you? No wonder we were exhausted.”

He winked and laughed. “Three times on your end, Allie. I guess women can have multiple orgasms like it’s been said.”

“Apparently.” I sighed and closed my eyes. I felt Paul running his fingers through my hair, which I knew would likely be in need of washing after all the exertion last night. I grabbed a lock of it and gasped. “Good grief, Paul, my hair is a mess! I can’t believe you want to run your hands through it.”

“So?” he replied, that adorable, impish grin plastered on his face. “But if it bothers you that much, go take a shower. Did you bring some clothes?”

“Yeah, they’re in your closet!” I replied, sitting up. I didn’t even bother to cover myself with the blanket, not particularly caring about being unclothed in Paul’s presence. We now knew every single inch of each other’s bodies, no need to even consider being a prude. “Didn’t you notice?”

“I wasn’t exactly worrying about looking in my closet last night.” He laid back down against the pillows. “Are you going to stay all day?”

“If you want me to.”

“I want you to.”

“Well, I’ll have to go home in a bit and call my dad on the base and make sure he didn’t call last night. I’ll think up some sort of excuse if he did.” I got out of the bed and walked to the closet, pulling out a well-worn pair of jeans and a light blue blouse from the bag on the floor. I collected my undergarments from the pile of discarded clothing on the carpet and placed everything in the bathroom. “I doubt he called. When he’s training recruits, that’s all he worries about.”

“What about your mother?” Paul asked. “What if she called?”

“I don’t care,” I said. “I’ll just outright lie to her. She has no right to judge me, seeing as Marion slept with Andy, her fiancé, on the third date and bragged to my mother about it at the dinner table when she was here visiting once. Mom sat there cool as can be and didn’t say a single word.”

“Yeah, I’d say she has zero room to judge.” Paul got out of the bed and opened up the top drawer of his dresser and began rifling through it. “I’m going to get dressed and go make breakfast. How’s that sound to you, love?”

I stuck my head out the bathroom door. “All right,” I told him. He finished buttoning his jeans and walked over to the bathroom, pulling me into an embrace. I grabbed his arm and dragged him into the bathroom. “Stay with me just a few minutes,” I said to him. “I can’t stand you not being right here with me at all times.”

“All right,” he replied, sitting down on the ceramic top of the toilet. “I’m not getting in there though. Who knows what we’d do in the heat of the moment.”

I pushed back the shower curtain and peered at him through the steam coming from the nearly scalding water. “James Paul McCartney,” I spoke up in a chiding tone. “I think we can control ourselves.”

“Oh I doubt that,” was his response. “Me, exercise self-control seeing you naked and gorgeous in that steamy shower? Nope, not happening!” Paul exclaimed. “Not in a million years!”

I reached out and caught him by the wrist and pulled him up to a standing position. “Get in here now,” I hissed in his ear. “You don’t have to undress, just get in here! Wash my hair for me.”

“Now THERE’S an idea!” he said. He stepped into the shower, jeans and all (no shirt, and I was swooning at the sight of his skin soaked from the water), and wrapped his arms around my waist. “All right, this works for me.”

“Yeah, me too.” I held out the shampoo bottle. “Now get to work!”

“Yes, love,” he said, trying to fight back a laugh. “Whatever you want, I’ll do. I’m completely at your mercy.”

“I know what I want later. But for now, this works.” I leaned back into him as he massaged his fingers through my hair, soap suds dripping down my neck and chest. “You have quite a touch, there, Paul.”

“That feels good?” He rubbed the top of my head harder. “Even better?”

“You should have been a massage therapist or something!” I said. “I mean, good grief!”

He laughed and kissed my shoulder. I stepped under the stream of water to allow the bubbles to rinse from my hair, then washed the rest of my form. “I’d let you do this part but no telling what would happen,” I told him, washcloth in my hand. “We’d be going at it again in under ten seconds.”

“True. I’ll watch.” 

I cut off the water about five minutes later, flung open the shower curtain, and retrieved a towel from the floor. I wrapped it around myself and stepped out of the shower. “I swear, there’s nothing harder to get off than wet denim,” Paul mused, tugging at his soaked jeans. “I can’t exactly walk around like this!”

“Want me to get you another pair?” I asked. “And the rest of your essential items of clothing?”

“Please.” He tossed the saturated jeans on the floor and wrapped a towel around his waist. “That was fun,” Paul said. “We should do that again later.”

I stepped into my underwear and hooked my bra. “Later, we will.” I pulled the blouse over my head, zipped up my jeans, and went to work towel-drying my long hair. “Can you go fix breakfast now, Paul? I am starving.”

“Of course. I’ll make some scones, and maybe a couple eggs? Tea or coffee? Juice?”

“Tea and juice. Water too. Please and thank you, darling.”

He winked. “I’ll get on it.”

 

**PAUL:** I set the kettle on the stove to let the water heat when I heard a knock on the door. Strange, I wonder who’d be coming over here at nine in the morning. We didn’t have to go to the club today as far as I knew, so surely one of my bandmates wasn’t coming to collect me. I unlocked the door and opened it. Sure enough, John was standing outside. “Hey there, Paul,” he said. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” I held the door open wider and then shut it behind John. “What’s up? Did you come to haul me off to the Cavern? We are practicing today, aren’t we?”

“Nope.” John sank down on the couch. “I was coming to see…. well, to see if, you know, you and Allie…”

I smiled. “If we…. did it?”

“Oh, stop with the euphemisms, Paul! Did you two have sex or not?”

I paused for a minute, and I could see that John was growing impatient. “Well, John… we did indeed.”  
John let out a loud whoop and jumped up from the couch. He threw his arms around me in one of his usual friendly hugs and clapped me on the back. “Congrats, Paul!” he exclaimed. “You finally did it! You’re no longer the only virgin left in the group! How does that feel?”

“I didn’t know I was the only one of us four who was still a virgin.”

“Well yeah! But since you never talk about this kind of stuff with me and Geo and Ringo, you wouldn’t know, would you? Oh well, no worries now!” John looked positively thrilled. “Where is Allie?”

“Did someone call my name?” I heard her say. “John Winston Lennon, what are you doing here this time of morning?” she said with a smile.

John grabbed Allie and spun her around. “Offering my congratulations to you and my best mate for finally losing your virginity, both of you. I’m quite proud of you two.”

“My, my, John, but aren’t you the pervert!” Allie laughed. She seemed pleased, though. “We’re about to eat breakfast. Want to join us?”

“No, I’d best get on my way. I have to go to London today and get those special strings for my guitar since the shops here don’t have them. Broke six the other night and can’t play it worth a damn now. I gotta replace them before Friday.” John headed for the door. “I’ll leave you two alone now. But in all seriousness…. I’m really happy for you both. Truly.”

“Thanks, John,” I said quietly. “I knew you would be.”

 

**ALLIE:** I went home briefly this afternoon to gather up more clothes and ring Dad. I have no clue if he can talk or not, but I need to see if he called last night. I hate to lie to him if he did and I missed the call, but I can’t admit to my father what Paul and I did. Not now, anyway. Someday, maybe, but not now.

I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, silence greeting me as I shut the door. I headed for the kitchen and went to the phone, turning the rotary dial to enter the correct number. My father actually picked up on the fifth ring. “Hi, Allie,” he said, sounding tired. “Sorry I didn’t call last night. Yesterday was quite busy.”

_It was quite busy for me too_ , I thought. “It’s okay.” I perched on the edge of the kitchen counter. “I was pretty tired myself. I figured you wouldn’t call.”

“How have you been managing? I hope you’ve been fine. I’m not too worried with Paul around, I know he’ll look after you.”

“I saw him yesterday and am about to go see him again,” I replied. “He’s been keeping an eye on me.”

“That makes me feel better. Try to stay with him as much as possible. You don’t need to be alone all the time.”

I almost dropped the phone. Did my dad know? Could he? Maybe something in my voice was tipping him off. “I will,” I said. “Should I ring Mom?”

“Don’t. She’s too wrapped up in the wedding. I don’t want her getting on you for something trivial. You should ask Paul to come to the wedding with you. You need a date.”

I laughed. Leave it to my dad to suggest that. “I’ll ask him! I’ll let you go now. See you next week.”

I replaced the receiver and sat thinking for a moment. I think my dad knew what I meant when I told him I was with Paul yesterday. I’ve been so happy since last night. Maybe we can have a repeat performance later.


	9. Chapter Nine

22 June 1962.

Liverpool, England.

**PAUL:** It’s Friday, which in turn means we have a set tonight. Positively thrilling, it is. Oh well. I can survive it.

Allie has been staying at my apartment every night this week. I love having her with me at all times. It’s not just the sex, either (though that part is pretty much phenomenal), it’s mainly just her presence. I love being able to cuddle in bed with her in the early morning hours when we know we should be sleeping but are just too exhilarated to think about such a boring activity. I love hearing her call my name, her sweet laughter, the feeling of her arms around me and the weight of her head against my shoulder. I love every single thing about her, and not having her stuck to my side nonstop drives me insane. 

“At least we have tomorrow off,” John said as he tuned his guitar. “Such a rare but amazing thing! I have almost forgotten what being off on Saturday is like.”

“I know, right?” George said from his chair in the corner, where he sat eating fish and chips as always (I’ve always marveled at how George stays so trim yet seems to be eating in a never-ending cycle). “I’ll just lay around the house, most likely. Unless everyone wants to go out.”

“I’m going down to London with my mother tomorrow, count me out,” Ringo said. “I have to accompany her shopping. My father has the flu.”

“Have fun with that!” said John. “Sounds dismal!”

“What about you, Paul?” asked George. “You want to go do something with me and John?”

“I might,” I said absently. I wasn’t really listening. I was watching the door instead, waiting for Allie to come waltzing through it. She went home to do her laundry and said she’d meet me here around two. It was a quarter to two and I was getting anxious waiting to see her.

“You’re distracted,” George observed. “I wonder why…”

“He’s lovesick, Geo, don’t you know?” John replied. “Just look at him. You can read it on his face.”

I could feel myself blushing. “Oh, stop it, guys!” I exclaimed. “Really!”

The door swung open, and I looked up to see Allie walk in with two other people following behind her. “I’m here!” she called out. “Apparently this guy behind me knows all of you.”

I felt my mouth fall open in shock. Pete Best. Our ex-drummer, the one who was tossed to the side for Ringo. I never thought I’d run into him anytime soon. He had a girl with him, too- a very pretty petite one with long brown hair and lovely grey eyes. She was dressed impeccably, too. I didn’t know her but from the looks of it, our former bandmate had a girl.

John spoke first. “Hi, Pete,” he said flatly. I could tell he was not happy to see Pete here. “How are you? What brings you here today?”

“I haven’t been to the club since I got the boot, thought I’d come for nostalgia’s sake. Plus I want to hear the set and find out what makes Ringo better than me. Megan hasn’t heard you play either.”

“Megan?” George questioned. “You mean this lovely bird hanging off your arm?”

“Oh, indeed. Sorry. This is Megan, my fiancée.” The girl nodded at us, and I caught a glimpse of a gigantic diamond on her left hand. “Megan, the former bandmates. John, Paul, and George. And who’s this lady who came in ahead of me?”

“That’s my girl, Alexandra. We call her Allie though.” I slipped an arm protectively around Allie’s waist. “It’s good to meet you, Megan.”

“Likewise,” she replied, her accent a crisply cultivated one, from the high-end side of Liverpudlian society. “This club is certainly tiny. Peter never said it really was like a cavern.”

Peter? None of us ever called him that. John was reluctant to even call him Pete, as he had a strong dislike for the guy from the beginning. I was neutral on the whole thing. I would be nice to Pete if he wanted to stay and listen to the set. I just can’t be rude.

 

**ALLIE:** Pete Best is that drummer Paul told me about. I remember now, the one they got initially for Hamburg then dumped right around the holidays last year. He was a pretty good-looking guy, I thought to myself, but no match for Paul. He had that characteristic “mop top” hair going for him, with nice eyes (I couldn’t tell if they were brown or green, maybe the lighting was affecting the color) and a rather attractive smile. Paul and George were being cordial to him, catching him up on the latest projects they had been working on. John was sitting stonily in the chair George had vacated, staring into space. Ringo was listening and interjecting his thoughts every so often.

I turned to the girl who had come in with Pete. “So, Megan, right? It’s really nice to meet you. Congratulations on being engaged.”

“Thank you. Your name is Allie, right?” I nodded. “I was making sure,” Megan continued. “I didn’t want to call you the wrong thing!”

“No harm if you did.”

“You’re an American. I can tell. Southern? Not Deep South, though. Florida?”

“How did you guess?”

“I’ve traveled all over America. I’m a photographer and did a series about two years ago on the Southern United States. I can tell where you’re from easily.”

“How did you meet Pete? He seems like a good guy.”

“We just met out and about one day. It was right after his dismissal and he was pretty upset, so I ended up spending quite a bit of time with him. We were engaged three months later. The wedding is in September.” Megan held out her hand and showed me the ring. It was gorgeous, a large diamond surrounded by a ring of tinier diamonds set in a platinum band. 

“Lovely!” I exclaimed, and she looked pleased. “I’m with Paul and have been since February. The night of my sixteenth birthday, actually.”

“Interesting. I don’t know anything about these guys. Pete refuses to discuss them, especially John. I don’t know what went on with the drummer situation.”

“I guess you’ll find out during the set. Ringo’s very good though. Not that I heard Pete play, but you know what I mean.”

“We’ll find out soon, I guess,” was Megan’s reply. “I’m rather looking forward to seeing it for myself.”

 

**PAUL:** I’m really surprised that Pete came to the club today, I really am. We haven’t spoken since he was dismissed, and I’ve never tried to get in touch with him. Partially, I feel guilty for agreeing to let him go, but on the other hand, Ringo is much better on the drums. So I can’t allow myself to feel too guilty.

“So what’s been up in your corner of the world?” George asked Pete. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’ve been working on my own music,” he replied. “I’ve been trying to get gigs around town but no such luck. Then I met Megan and we’re getting married. It’s been very mediocre. You guys seem to have been busy.”

“Not so much,” I told him. “I mean, here the Beatles are, still stuck in Liverpool. You’re probably better off on your own, Pete. We’re stuck in a major rut.”

I heard John let out a disgusted snort from behind me. “We’re better off, anyway. Ringo is much better on the kit,” he mumbled.

“I heard that, John,” I said. Pete either hadn’t heard or simply had shrugged off John’s snide little comment. John rolled his eyes at me and simulated gagging. “So sorry, Paul. I’m just expressing my thoughts. I can do that.”

“Just ignore him, Pete, he’s in a mood,” George said. “I’m guessing he and Cyn didn’t get it on last night, he always acts like this when deprived.”

John wadded up a ball of paper and chucked it at George’s head. “Oh, Geo, really!”

“I’m just calling it as I see it!” George shot back.

“Still the same as always, you three,” Pete mused. “I guess some things never change, eh?”

“Not around here!” George said. “You know that well enough, there, Pete.”

I looked over at Allie and Megan, who seemed deeply absorbed in some interesting sort of conversation. Megan was quite obviously very well-off from the looks of her apparel and her polished accent, and I wondered how exactly Pete met such a glamorous bird as her, seeing as none of us traveled in circles as classy as those Megan apparently hailed from when Pete was a Beatle. Perhaps I’d ask him someday, if we ended up mending fences and becoming friends again. I sincerely hoped that was what would happen in the end. Close as I am to Ringo, I still have a spark of warmth to our original drummer and want to patch up the holes as best I can.

 

**ALLIE:** Pete and Megan are staying to hear the set tonight, and Paul has asked them to come to dinner when he and I go out after the show. They both agreed, and I was a bit surprised that they did. I sensed tension in the room when Pete arrived, mainly from John. I wonder what caused it. Paul hasn’t really told me much about the pre-Ringo days when they ran around Hamburg playing at the Kaiserkeller and places like that. I’ll have to ask him to elaborate sometime.

Pete and Megan were sitting with me at my usual table, and I found that I liked both of them immensely. Pete was easy-going and friendly and rather charming, I thought to myself. He certainly had charmed that lovely girl he was betrothed to, I could see. Megan was pleasant herself and very well-educated. She was three years older than me and has attended Oxford for two years, she told me, after being skipped ahead a year in secondary school (like I have done, as I will finish next spring). I asked about her photography work and she invited me to come down to her family’s home just outside the city limits and see her portraits sometime. I think we’ll be great friends, truly.

The set began at eight, and I watched Pete and Megan’s reactions to the performance. The usual blues songs were in, the jazz ones too, but they were also playing “Roll Over Beethoven” and “I Saw Her Standing There,” Paul had mentioned earlier. Club manager would probably have an aneurysm, but really… the music in here was a bit boring. The Beatles existed to shake things up in my eyes.

“This piece makes me want to get up and dance,” Megan said as they began playing “Roll Over Beethoven.” “I can’t stand it, I have to dance to this. Come on, Pete, get up and join me!”

“All right!” Pete said. He stood and hung his jacket over the back of the chair.

_“I'm gonna write a little letter,_  
Gonna mail it to my local DJ.   
Yeah an' it's a jumpin' little record   
I want my jockey to play.   
Roll Over Beethoven, I gotta hear it again today. 

_You know, my temperature's risin'_  
The jukebox's blowin' a fuse.   
My heart's beatin' rhythm   
And my soul keeps a-singin' the blues.   
Roll Over Beethoven and tell Tchaikovsky the news. 

_I got the rockin' pneumonia,_  
I need a shot of rhythm and blues.   
I caught the rollin' arthritis   
Sittin' down at a rhythm review.   
Roll Over Beethoven they're rockin' in two by two. 

_Well, if you feelin' like it_  
Go get your lover, then reel and rock it.   
Roll it over and move on up just   
A trifle further and reel and rock with it,   
Roll it over,   
Roll Over Beethoven, dig these rhythm and blues. 

_Well, early in the mornin' I'm a-givin' you a warnin'_  
Don’t you step on my blue suede shoes.   
Hey diddle diddle, I am playin' my fiddle,   
Ain't got nothin' to lose.   
Roll Over Beethoven and tell Tchaikovsky the news. 

_You know she wiggles like a glow worm,_  
Dance like a spinnin' top.   
She got a crazy partner,   
Ya oughta see 'em reel and rock.   
Long as she got a dime the music wont never stop. 

_Roll Over Beethoven,_  
Roll Over Beethoven,   
Roll Over Beethoven,   
Roll Over Beethoven,   
Roll Over Beethoven, dig these rhythm and blues.” 

I watched them dancing to the pounding beat of the music, along with about fifty other people in the room, and I couldn’t help but smile as I watched them. Pete’s initial hesitation to hear the set had vanished, I saw. It was clear that he was enjoying himself.

 

**PAUL:** Pete and Megan are dancing to “Roll Over Beethoven.” I’m rather surprised. I glanced at them and saw that they both looked like they were enjoying themselves immensely. Perhaps Pete didn’t harbor resentment like I always imagined he did. He and Megan are coming out with Allie and me after the set (Geo’s heading home, Ringo is too, and John declined the offer to join us), perhaps I’ll be able to talk to him a bit more.

We finished at a bit past eight-thirty, and I was quite relieved when the manager, Mr. Wooler, told us that we would be off until next Friday. An entire week not playing! What a blessed relief!

I headed to the dressing room and found Allie waiting inside. “Pete and Megan went on ahead,” she said. “I told them we’d be along shortly.”

I nodded and kissed her cheek. “You coming back home with me again tonight?”

She smiled. “Of course, that is, if you want me to.”

“Oh, I want you too. I need you there.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “I miss you too much when you’re not with me.”

“I do too.” She stood up from the couch and put her arm through mine. “Are you ready to go yet?”

“Yeah, I am. We’re off till Friday, can you believe it?” I said as we walked outside. “A whole week of freedom from playing here! I’m so excited!”

“Good to know!” She got into the car, and I shut the door behind her. “By the way, Paul, I have a question.”

“Ask away, love,” I said, pulling my keys from my coat pocket.

“This is my dad’s idea, actually. Do you want to come with me to the wedding in a couple weeks? Dad said I should bring a date. It’ll peeve my mom and Marion but I don’t honestly care. We’d be there for about four days, in Chicago. Saturday, July 7th is the wedding date but we’d stay from Thursday till Sunday.”

“I’d love to come with you,” I told her. “I don’t care if it makes Epstein mad or anyone at the club, I accept that offer!”

“I was hoping you’d say yes,” Allie replied. “I’ve never been to Chicago before. It should be interesting.”

“I’ve never even been to America!” I exclaimed. “Definitely sounds like an adventure. Minus being around your mother, who has the biggest vendetta ever for me.”

“Ignore her, Paul. Don’t you even think about letting her run you off!”

I grabbed Allie’s hand and kissed it. “No one could run me away from you. I don’t care who they are or what they threaten me with. I am not going anywhere.”

We ended up at that small café that John and I usually go to for our breakfast chats during fits of musical genius (plus it’s the only place here in town I know of that stays open till midnight). Pete and Megan were waiting at a small table tucked in the back, away from the late-nighters dragging themselves in from the clubs to sober up on coffee and sandwiches.

“You made it,” Pete said as we approached. “Have a seat. We ordered a tray of sandwiches, if that’s all right with you two.”

I nodded in agreement. I sat down at the table, which was thankfully round. Being left-handed led to quite awkward movements at the dinner table, a problem that both Allie and I shared as she was left-handed as well. “What did you think of the set, Pete?” I asked. I reached for the glass of ice water sitting to my left; one of the two had thankfully taken the liberty of getting water for all of us.

Pete sat in silence for a long moment. Megan looked at him expectantly, and he finally spoke. “I was impressed, Paul, I really was,” he replied, twisting his napkin absently in his hand. “Ringo is very good. I give him credit, he is a wonder at the kit.”

I didn’t say anything, unsure of whether or not I was even meant to respond to that statement. Pete continued. “I just…” He stopped again and fumbled in his coat pocket, retrieving a pack of cigarettes. “Would you mind stepping out with me, Paul? I’d like to talk to you alone, not to offend the ladies.”

“None taken,” Allie said, and I smiled at her. She turned to Megan and they began some sort of artistic chat about photography methods and camera types, and I followed Pete outside to the entrance of the café, where he stood out of the doorway a bit and lit his cigarette. He offered me one, but I turned it down. I do smoke, yes, but generally only when I am very upset or stressed, not just whenever I feel like it. Besides, the smell bothers Allie, so I have pretty much dropped the habit entirely.

I stood silently as Pete took several long drags on the cigarette, the end of it glowing a warm orange. He tapped the ash on the sidewalk and continued smoking it silently, not even looking at me. I kept waiting for him to speak, but he kept smoking and staring at the ground. He was halfway through his third cigarette before he finally spoke. “I want to know why, Paul,” he said quietly, his voice almost sad. “None of you ever would tell me. All I was told was that I wasn’t the type of drummer the band needed anymore, since you were trying to get more serious about your performances and we weren’t flitting around Hamburg anymore. You wouldn’t explain, George wouldn’t explain, and John basically told me to go to hell, that I wasn’t welcome anymore. Paul, we knew each other for five years, as the Quarrymen and then the Beatles! You hurt me, all three of you, and I want to know exactly why. I know you know why, don’t try to smooth things over for me. Just tell me!”

I sighed and took a deep, shaking breath. “Pete, I don’t honestly know what happened. All I can remember is George and John telling Epstein that they wanted to get rid of you because your playing was, as I recall John saying, rudimentary and elementary. George chimed in with the bit about having asked the drummer from Rory Storm and the Hurricanes to come try out with us. Epstein was the one pushing to get us so professional, and he also said your skills on the drums were holding us back. I had no choice but to go along with it, Pete, can’t you understand? Ringo is much more experienced. Since he joined us, we’ve been a phenomenon like we never were when you were in the group. Haven’t you ever considered that all things happen for a reason and for some reason, you just weren’t meant to be a Beatle?”

“Why would I want to consider that, Paul? I had a job with that band. I loved playing in the clubs with you and Geo and John, and the three of you stabbed me in the back in favor of someone you barely knew. Thank God Stuart died. Who can say what you would have done to get rid of him.”

Stuart. Stuart Sutcliffe. Our former bass player (while I was still on guitar), the one who’d died in April while with his girlfriend Astrid in Hamburg. I’d put Stuart’s memory to rest in my mind and now Pete had dug it back up again, as if Stu’s ghost was standing here on the sidewalk in front of me. “Don’t even say such a thing!” I exclaimed, and I realized I was on the verge of tears. “You know we all loved Stu! I was devastated when he died. And you know he left of his own accord, to go back to school! How can you say that?”

“He likely felt pressured, you and Lennon had to have it all your way. It was only a matter of time anyway.” Pete tossed his cigarette butt on the ground and stamped it out. He lit another one and continued. “I want to get over the betrayal, I really do, Paul. I feel like we could patch things up. I just want to know one thing- were you relieved when I left? I heard your father say one time that you were jealous because the ladies though I was better-looking than you. Is that true?”

I had fought with myself over this very thing throughout my stint as a Quarryman and an early pre-Ringo Hamburg Beatle, and I couldn’t lie to Pete. “At times, yes, I was very jealous,” I admitted. “You were older than me, you were cooler in my eyes. I felt like I was a nobody when you were around- not because of you, but because of the attention you always got. The girls loved you, they really did. I wished for the rabid attention you would get from them. I’m sorry that you overheard my father repeat that. Leave it to him to do that.”

Pete snubbed out his fourth cigarette and stared at the ground for a long moment. He looked up at me again about a minute later, and the expression he wore was one of relief and even forgiveness. “You’re right, they did adore me. But they don’t matter, you know? I’ve found the most amazing, wonderful, beautiful girl in the world in Megan. Those crazy fan girls are a million worlds away now that I’m engaged. They shouldn’t still matter to you either, I can read on your face how helplessly in love you are with that lovely bird of yours. We were both young and very stupid and petty.”

“We’re still young, Pete, who are you kidding?” I said with a laugh. “I’ve been twenty for five days!”

He smiled and returned the pack of cigarettes to his pocket. “Do you think we can indeed be friends again?” he asked. “Not necessarily me and Geo and John, but at least me and you? Our girls seem to have hit it off well, at least for their sakes?"

I smiled and held out my hand. "I say we can be," I replied, and we shook hands. And, much to my relief, all was forgiven in that moment. Pete turned the conversation to the songs he was working on writing, and we walked back into the café, laughing and talking as if nothing had happened between us in the past to split us apart.

 

**ALLIE:** I lay awake far later than I normally do at night, my mind filled to the brim with about ten thousand different thoughts about everything under the sun. Paul was sleeping soundly beside me, his head on half of my pillow. I sighed and moved in closer to him, pulling the sheets tighter around me.

I didn’t ask him what had gone on when he and Pete went outside for about fifteen minutes earlier. I figured Paul would tell me when he wanted to, if he did end up sharing. I wouldn’t ask him about it. They must have patched up whatever differences they had, though, as they acted like the best of mates throughout the rest of our meal. I’m going to spend the day with Megan tomorrow, and Paul and Pete are planning on going over to the club and working out some material that Pete has been writing since he was kicked out of the Beatles. It should be a good day for all of us.

“Why are you still awake?” I heard Paul mumble sleepily. He glanced over at the alarm clock. “It’s three in the morning, Allie. Are you ok?”

“I’ve been sleeping on and off,” I told him. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. “I just can’t seem to drift back off.”

I felt his lips on my neck. “Is everything ok?” Paul asked me. “You seem like something is bothering you.”

“Nothing is bothering me to the point that I need to discuss it at three in the morning, Paul,” I told him gently. “I should just go to sleep and then think about everything tomorrow. So ask me in the morning.”

“You sure? I’m here if you need to talk about something, even in the middle of the night.”

“I’m sure,” I replied. “I’m going to try to sleep now, and I think you’d better do the same. I love you, Paul.”

“I love you too, Allie,” he said softly. “Now let’s go back to sleep.”


End file.
